


no one to dry your eyes at midnight

by Jerevinan



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Biting, Blow Jobs, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Hand Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, Mental Health Issues, Mutual Pining, Pining, Sex Addiction, Sexual Fantasy, Sexual Frustration, Spanking, Stress Relief Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-19
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2018-10-20 20:21:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 25,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10670088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jerevinan/pseuds/Jerevinan
Summary: There is no warm body beside him, no sting in his ass that will force the sound out of his throat and into the room. He doesn’t know if that’s what he wants, because it is something he has never had. But he likes the idea of it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> title taken from lyrics from Darren Hayes song, Sweetest Lullaby
> 
> this is mostly a tame chapter, though there is some masturbation towards the end

Something in the apartment smells rancid. It might be the half-eaten burger, rewrapped and tossed back in the bag, which Noctis couldn’t stomach the night before last. Maybe it’s the fries he didn’t scrap from the bottom of the box. There are enough culprits in the apartment, Noctis can’t keep count. He curls deeper into himself on the sofa and tried to sleep.

Another nightmare flashes into his mind not long after he closes his eyes. When he wakes up, the room is darker and there’s someone rustling around in the fridge.

“Ignis?” He rubs at the sleep in his eyes and pulls himself into a sitting position. 

“Yes, Noct?” Ignis straightens up, closing the door. He’s holding a bundle of fresh bananas in one hand. “By the way, you don’t have any fresh milk. I’ll go back to the store and get some.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I can cut you up a banana, if you’d like.”

Hunger claws at Noctis’ stomach. A banana is a start, so he nods. As Ignis hands him a plate, the fruit peeled and sliced, Noct says, “Make me something good, Ignis.”

“What would you like?” 

“Something savory. Maybe some meat?”

Ignis nods. “Do you need anything else while I’m out?”

Noctis yawns and follows with a shake of his head. He watches with disappointment as Ignis gathers the reusable grocery bags and leaves. A shower would be nice—he hasn’t had one in two days. But what’s the point, when the rest of the place is filthy? 

It isn’t as if he hasn’t been active. Gladiolus makes him train several times a week. Twice a week, he works shifts at a restaurant as their dishwasher. Next to his abandoned dinner from two nights ago and the bag of chips he’s been working on ever since, there is a pile of reports from the Citadel, the pages showing wear and greasy finger prints. Battles outside the wall are being lost. _Lucis_ is being lost. And all of it is taking its toll on his father.

The thoughts exhaust Noctis more than the reading. He’s been trudging through it, taking breaks with comics or video games. But even going out with Prompto to the arcade doesn’t feel right now that they’re not in high school anymore. The only sun he gets is in the car and what pours through his apartment windows. Snacks make the difference between the few decent meals Ignis cooks for him.

Each bite of the banana is refreshing. It’s a lot better than eating chips but not as good as having sweets.

With his energy partially restored, he decides to start on the wreck his apartment has become. He starts with what he suspects stinks. The burger, the last few fries, and several dirty cups are cleared. He fills one half of the sink with soapy hot water and begins soaking any dishes he can find. Every inch of him is heavier than it ought to feel, tempting him back to his nest on the sofa.

Noctis powers through somehow. The room is a little fresher. He has never been a tidy person, and Ignis has always made things easier for him by cleaning up despite how often he says he won’t.

The remaining stench comes from his clothing. Every day, after work or practice, he has pulled on the same sweats and t-shirt. He has others, but he’s pretty sure they’re dirty, and the pants are his most comfortable pair.

He wades across the mess of laundry on his bedroom floor. He’ll do it all. After he reads the rest of the reports, after he finishes eating something more than a banana. Or maybe he’ll do them after his shower—start the first load going. He digs clean clothes out of a basket that he never put away. 

Sometimes he forgets how good a shower feels until the hot spray hits every ache. It acts fast on the old injuries from the Marilith attack, soothing away the dull pain that throbs from time to time. 

Noctis hears the front door of the apartment open as he’s toweling off. 

“Ignis! I just got outta the shower. I’ll be out in a few minutes.” He pulls on his jeans. They aren’t as comfortable as sweats, but they’ll do for a few hours. He gathers up a bunch of his clothing, drops in a scoop of detergent, and sets it going before he leaves the bathroom. Doing even a little work to clean the apartment has made him feel better, but the shower helps, too. With food, he’ll be recharged enough to slog through the rest of his reports. 

Ignis has already stored away the groceries and is making headway on the soaked dishes when Noctis emerges from his bedroom. 

“Hey, thanks for cleaning up,” says Noctis.

Ignis sets a mug in the drainer. “I could say the same to you. Leaves less for me to do.”

“I know, but I’ve been…” Not sleeping. Reading those reports. Thinking too much.

Noctis can’t pick a reason, but there aren’t any shortages of them. What he wants is to scream or cry or fling a chair out the window, but he isn’t about to do anything reckless or stupid and cause trouble for Ignis and especially not for his father. 

“I’ll do what I can before I go home tonight,” says Ignis.

_Don’t go home tonight._ Noctis only ever makes the request if Ignis is helping him through work. Whenever there is a need for an excuse, he can’t lie to keep his advisor near. Ignis is busy, and taking advantage of his reliability and loyalty would be abusive. 

Noctis takes some wipes to the main table and sets two places for dinner. As he’s finishing up, Ignis slips a sweets box out of one of the bags and sets it on the table.

“More pastries?” asks Noctis. Even if they aren’t like the ones from Tenebrae, he knows they’ll be delicious.

“Afraid not. Cake this time.”

“Sounds good to me!”

He flops into a chair and watches Ignis. If the other man asks, he can say he’s watching him cook to pick up tips on self-sufficiency, but he spends most of his time admiring Ignis’ hands and arms. Every move Ignis makes is fluid with practice. He chops vegetables with precision and speed and sweeps them into the pot, and Noctis is too enraptured to protest the addition.

Noctis would like those hands to be elsewhere. Perhaps on him, no matter how gentle or rough the touch—fingers in his hair, a palm down the back of his pants before it squeezes his ass.

Noctis readjusts how he’s sitting. The more he thinks about what Ignis could do to him, the more aroused he becomes. His dick responds. If only he could quell his desires. Lucis is going to need heirs, and what kind of king will Noctis be if he tumbles in bed with someone who isn’t his wife? And surely it’ll be a wife, to guarantee a successor.

Still, he stares at Ignis, taking in the shape of his jaw and his lips, the length of his lashes. He memorizes the way he moves, graceful and swift. There is a reason he enjoys his practice with Gladiolus a little more when Ignis joins them. There is a lot of power in his well-toned physique. And he’s beautiful to watch.

“It smells good,” says Noctis. It isn’t a lie, but it is meant as a distraction from the real reason he’s been watching for a while.

Ignis dishes up two plates of chicken with sauce over pasta. There aren’t too many vegetables in it, but Noctis finds a way to pick most of them out. The rest are pureed, and they aren’t overwhelming. Ignis uses ingredients like green onion and garlic without an overabundance. The mushrooms and broccoli are brushed to the side.

“Have you finished reading the report?” asks Ignis. “I saw them on your coffee table earlier.”

“Almost. I had a headache after work yesterday. Picked it up again today.” If there is ever a day off, it is one where Noctis spends all his time catching up with the things he hasn’t been able to do the rest of the week. 

“Do you need me to stay and go over them with you?”

“What? No. I’ve got it.” 

“After dessert, you can read while I finish tidying.”

Noctis doesn’t want to trouble Ignis further, but he would like him to stay for any reason at all. It is a hard decision, but the apartment is disgusting. During high school, he had started to work everything into his schedule better. But it only took one slip up a few weeks ago for the rest of the chores to fall behind. Noctis can’t deal with avalanches. He shuts down, and Ignis knows that, too.

There used to be lectures, but they’ve since stopped. Ignis gets it. And they don’t talk about what’s going on. Once the place is clean, Noctis has less to worry about, and he can stumble forward until other things pile up.

“Thank you,” says Noctis. He eyes the cake box. “Can you cut me a slice?”

Noctis watches Ignis as he does as asked. If he could ask him for other things, how much would his advisor oblige? But he doesn’t ask. He eats, ponders, and delays it all for another day.

~*~

It only takes a few seconds of an uninvited fantasy to disrupt Noctis’ possibility of sleep and make his dick hard. It happens too many nights in a row, sometimes several times throughout the day even when he should be busy.

He applies a liberal dose of lubricant to his palm and curls his fingers around his erection. The strokes aren’t as fulfilling if he doesn’t think of someone. He feels guilty that his mind goes right to Ignis. It isn’t like he can seek permission from the people he imagines as he’s masturbating. How would that conversation go? Badly, he imagines.

He forcefully tries to content himself with a safe fantasy. Something everyone would consider normal for a guy to want without getting too intimate with this fictional Ignis. Perhaps some soft kisses and grinding? It isn’t enough. His wrist hurts. The only thing he wants is his stomach to drop when Ignis tosses him across his long legs and applies a hand to his ass. 

Noctis drives his teeth into a pillow and holds in a moan that almost chokes him. No one would be able to hear him in his apartment, yet the thought of being loud while alone is more depressing than the state of his apartment a few hours ago.

His right hand falters in stroking. There is no warm body beside him, no sting in his ass that will force the sound out of his throat and into the room. He doesn’t know if that’s what he wants, because it is something he has never had. But he likes the idea of it. 

Ignis might not. He can offer advice and lectures, but a spanking? Whenever he has scolded Noctis, it has only ever been an annoyance; a reminder of something Noctis already knows and doesn’t want to hear again. There is no underlying sexual tension to it, either. 

Noctis gives up and smears his palm across the sheet on his bed. He is uncomfortable and hot, and he no longer feels clean. The pillow isn’t sitting right behind his head. Outside, the noises of the city’s nightlife are loud. It’ll be another sleepless night.


	2. Chapter 2

Noctis’ mental health takes ugly forms, like the unfolded laundry and the clutter of dirty mugs and cups around his nightstand. The aloe vera at his bedroom window wilts, despite that Ignis said it wouldn’t require much water. He lets his ice water sit on his desk in a puddle of its condensation, and even when he’s done with it, he’ll leave it there until it gets some important papers wet. That’s _always_ what happens.

The news doesn’t talk about the destruction that pockmarks the soil of Lucis from all the battles their kingdom has lost. Everyone within the wall feels safe, but Noctis knows the toll for their peace. How fragile it all is. And even he understands that—compared to his father—he hasn’t a clue.

Prompto is coming over to play video games after they finish with their training. There is a new game out. Months ago, he was looking forward to the release. Now he isn’t sure if he can feign enthusiasm.

Ignis managed to get most of the apartment cleaned, but some of it has slipped in the last two days. At least Noctis has fresh clothing and towels. 

Before Noctis leaves to meet up with Gladiolus in the training hall, he strips his bed and throws the sheets in the wash before anyone can see the stains smeared on them. This is the second time in a week he has had to switch them out. 

Noctis is rummaging for a quick snack when Ignis arrives. He tears into a packet of chocolate dipped cookies and grabs his water thermos. 

Ignis is in casual clothes, but he always manages to look amazing. Noctis gets a nice view of his ass in the jeans Ignis is wearing, but he quickly returns to pulling on his shoes before the advisor can turn and notice his gaze. 

The two are quiet on their walk down to the parking garage. This is never unusual; Ignis never discusses any updates until they’re somewhere private, and Noctis is often too tired in the mornings to chat. 

“You didn’t sleep, did you?” asks Ignis when they’re in the car. The air conditioner kicks on with the ignition, blowing cool air into Noctis’ face.

Noctis rests his head against the inside of the door and closes his eyes. “Not a wink,” he admits.

“Perhaps you should see a specialist.”

Noctis doesn’t answer. There are only a few people who know the prince’s catnaps are due to bad sleeping patterns and nightmares; he would rather keep it a secret than have to consult a stranger. Even if they are a doctor.

It helps when Prompto spends the night. The two of them often wake up cuddling, and neither of them does anything more than laugh it off the next morning when Prompto says, “Dude, I woke up with your hand on my ass!” But this is the guy who’ll share a spoon for cereal when Noctis hasn’t done the dishes, who nabs Noctis’ clothing because he failed to bring his own. There is no one more nonjudgmental to be around, and yet those are the times Noctis doesn’t have nightmares—with the person who would be happy to stay up late and distract him if he woke up shaking and sweaty.

Noctis hasn’t shared a bed with Ignis or Gladiolus since he was small, so he doesn’t know what it might be like if Ignis stayed the night. Whenever Ignis does, he takes the sofa. The kind of thing a _gentleman_ might do, rather than make the prince resign himself to half of an oversized bed that can easily fit three. Noctis knows how uncomfortable the sofa is; he naps there on a daily basis. 

They arrive too soon at the Citadel. Noctis yawns and follows Ignis through the labyrinthine corridors to the Crownsguard training hall. There, Gladiolus is landing hard on Prompto while Cor offers tips from the sidelines. The noise would give anyone _sane_ a headache, but Gladiolus grins as he takes another swipe at Prompto with his sword.

Prompto yelps and jumps back, tripping before he lands on his backside. His exaggerated groan echoes.

“Your sword is too big,” he complains. “I can’t jump away in time!”

“Right. How ‘bout you tell that to the enemy.” Gladiolus snorts and reaches out a hand to help Prompto to his feet.

Despite his fumble, Prompto bounces back into action. He keeps his distance and aims a paint pellet—which Noctis recently found out can still leave behind a welt on exposed skin if at the right speed and range—at Gladiolus. Blue paint sprays across the width of Gladiolus’ blade.

“Easy to block,” says Gladiolus. 

Prompto tries again, but the next pellet lands not too far from the area of the last. The gun has to be reloaded as well, and it takes all of the gunman’s efforts to skip out of the way of the sword swinging toward him. He yelps as the blade connects and sends him sprawling on the ground.

“C’mon Prompto,” growls Gladiolus. “You can do this.”

Noctis watches for a few minutes longer, but knowing that’s the sort of morning he has ahead of him makes him want to sneak into one of the lockers and attempt to sleep standing up. 

“You’ll be all right?” asks Ignis as they change into their practice clothing.

“I’ll be fine.”

Despite his fatigue, fighting always eases up some of the tension Noctis feels. There’s no need to hold back any noises he makes when he swings a lance or flings a dagger. His exhaustion is enough that he can’t hold up a shield for long as Gladiolus brings down his broadsword, but the frustrated cry that works its way out his throat releases a little stress with it.

The four of them have a rare chance of sparring with Cor toward the end of the morning, something of a treat and a punishment at the same time.

“Don’t go easy on us,” says Gladiolus.

“Have I ever?”

“This’ll be over quick,” mutters Noctis as he summons a sword.

Cor flattens them in a flash. Noctis waits for an opening, but by the time Cor flings Gladiolus back and knocks Ignis’ lance from his hands, he anticipates the prince’s jump and sends him flying across the gym. Prompto is only last because he freaks out in the corner and forgets to discharge his weapon. “The Immortal” closes in on him before Prompto has time to react. He crumples to the ground to join the others in a chorus of moans.

Potions are passed out to the losers, and Noctis feels the tendrils of medicine work their path around his body. He slumps against the wall and sighs. 

Gladiolus offers him a hand up, but he bats it away. He wants to stay there for a few minutes. Every training session aggravates his old injuries. When he finally stands, it is with a limp that he makes his way to the locker room.

Everyone beats him into the showers. Noctis pulls his gym bag from the locker and finds a free stall. 

Ignis is shirtless when Noctis emerges, revealing an oft-not appreciated muscular physique. His jeans hang off his hips. Normally, Noctis doesn’t have a chance to look and admire; they’re often undressing beside each other, and Ignis would notice if Noctis paused to stare.

Noctis pulls his eyes away and sets down his gym bag on a bench.

“Hey, Prompto. Did you get the game?” Noctis can’t see around to the other side of the lockers, but he knows his friend is there.

“Got it this morning, soon as the store opened!” 

“And he was still earlier to practice than you two,” says Gladiolus.

“Hey, we were on time. I’m not coming earlier than I have to.”

Gladiolus grunts. 

Prompto finishes dressing and pokes his head around the lockers. He holds the game up in his hands. Seeing the cover and thinking of all the time that will be spent on the sofa eating junk food and playing rejuvenates some of Noctis’ energy. 

Prompto takes the front seat of the car while Ignis drives. Noctis stretches out in the backseat and closes his eyes. Even if he only gets fifteen minutes of sleep—twenty if traffic is bad—it’ll be enough. He chatters idly with Prompto about the game as he drifts off.

The pain around his eyes has eased up by the time Ignis parks.

In the elevator, Prompto rests his head against Noctis’ shoulder. “Cor is merciless, and Gladio’s no better! I thought I’d die.”

“Didn’t they have to give you a phoenix down after Cor laid you flat?” Noctis snickers.

“Did not!” Prompto goes quiet for the rest of the elevator ride, but he perks up when they get to the apartment.

“Oh, there was a preorder bonus!” says Prompto as he kicks off his shoes. His voice competes with the beeps of the security system as Ignis pushes in the code.

“Really?”

Prompto reaches into his bag and pulls out a copy of the game along with a set of small posters. “Here’s your copy.”

“Thanks for picking it up for me.”

“Would you like some lunch?” asks Ignis, stepping into the kitchen and fetching a can of Ebony. He takes a sip and waits.

Noctis had breakfast early, and the cookies before training didn’t do much good. Still, he would rather have chips and candy than bother with anything complicated.

“Can you order us some take out? Anything with meat is fine. We can have some now and eat the leftovers later. Prompto’s spending the night.”

“I’ll take veggies!” pipes up Prompto. “Kebobs sound good.”

“Yeah, definitely kebobs. You can get whatever, Ignis, just no veggies for me.” 

Ignis sighs but obliges, grabbing the menu stack off the top of the fridge. It takes him a while to sift through them and find one of Noctis' favorite barbeque restaurants. He orders while hovering around the kitchen so as not to disturb the opening of the game. It doesn’t take long for all the excitement Noctis had about the release a few months ago to return. 

He has been waiting for this installment in the series for far too long, and there’s nothing but satisfaction now that it’s finally here. 

~*~

After a bit of food, alcohol, and entertainment, Prompto and Noctis are slightly drunk. They take a few pictures when it becomes apparent that they’re doing miserably at connecting their attacks in the new game while inebriated. When Noctis snatches Prompto’s phone and takes a rude selfie, he notices something in the gallery.

It’s a picture from that morning. Gladiolus is in a tight fitting sleeveless shirt, sweating from the workout. 

“Nice pic,” says Noctis.

“Delete it!”

“No, not the one I just took—and hell no, I’m not deleting it. It’s hilarious.” Noctis flips to it for a second and laughs at his childishness. “I mean this one of Gladio. Bet you don’t want this one deleted.”

Prompto pauses the game and dives at Noctis, hand outstretched for his phone. Noctis instinctively jerks it out of reach.

“Are there more?” asks Noctis. He squirms out from under Prompto, rolling onto his stomach so he can view the rest of the gallery without getting the phone recovered. He thumbs the screen through picture after picture. “Woah, there’re a whole bunch!”

“Dude, why you gotta be like this?” Prompto moans and sinks to the floor. Noctis eases down next to him.

“They’re good. Why’d you use your phone, though? Don’t you have a better camera?”

“He’ll know I’m taking shots of him if I bring my camera.”

“Oh. Oooooh. So you’re doing this to get candids?”

“You could say that.”

“You like Gladio.”

Prompto nosedives into his waiting palms and lets out a whimper. It doesn’t hide the blush coloring his freckled face. 

“I like Ignis.” It slips out as a peace offering, to even out their embarrassment. It’s easy to say when drunk, when Ignis isn’t there. He left for his apartment long before Noctis brought a bottle of wine out of the cabinet.

Prompto lowers his hands. “Ignis?”

Noctis nods. It feels good to share it with someone. Afterwards, if they do say too much, they can blame the alcohol. Conveniently shove all confessions to the back of their minds and never speak of it again.

“Gladio digs girls,” mutters Prompto. “There’s no way he’d look at me.”

“I thought you liked girls, too.”

“Dude, I like both. Everyone is so pretty. Even you.”

“As if you aren’t cute.”

“No way am I cute.” Prompto’s nose curls for only a split second, but Noctis notices. Does Prompto think so little of himself? It’s hard to tell when he’s often bubbly and spirited.

Noctis reaches over and pokes at Prompto’s cheek lightly. “You have freckles, a nice nose—I hate your nose ‘cos it’s way better than mine.”

Prompto hugs his knees. 

“I won’t tell him,” promises Noctis. “Just don’t tell Ignis, either.”

“At least Ignis would do anything for you.”

“Would he?” Noctis worries enough that it’s true, but if Prompto can confirm…

“Take out, Noct? He was ready to make you something from scratch. Damn, I would’ve liked to try his cooking.” Prompto rolls his head back onto the cushion and sighs at the ceiling. “I’ve only had those pastries you used to bring to school. Every single one was delicious.”

“I can make you cup noodles.”

“I don’t want your cup noodles. They’ll taste the same if I make them.” Prompto gives Noctis a shove in the arm.

“Not everyone gets cup noodles made by a _prince_.”

“Wow, I’m impressed. Can’t believe I never noticed the difference it makes all those times you’ve served me cup noodles for dinner!”

Noctis laughs. “Shut up.”

The two of them somehow climb their way back onto the sofa, piling together to finish a little more of the storyline in the game before they save. Noctis can barely remember Prompto guiding him by the hand to the bedroom and reminding him to brush his teeth before bed. The two of them curl up close, and Noctis—as he expected he would—sleeps well that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't tell me the chocobros never woke up with someone's hand somewhere it wasn't supposed to be, I did this to my best friend when we were kids. I thought her pitbull had climbed into bed with us and I was half asleep petting it and it turned out to be her butt. I don't think she knows. I still haven't told her, and it's been two decades. I'm still embarrassed.
> 
> I hope Noct is too ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)


	3. Chapter 3

Noctis runs his finger in circles over the same spot on the sofa. After three rounds, he swears he’ll say something, but six pass, then seven, and soon enough, he loses count. 

“Ignis? Don’t you need a break?”

He’s scared of the answer, but Ignis is clearing out the expired food in his refrigerator for the second time in as many months. There are warm pastries waiting to be sampled that sit next to a stack of comics. This all comes after a meeting at the Citadel and training that morning. Dinner preparations are only minutes away. And there are likely errands because Ignis is always on top of _everything_. 

“If you mean from my job, then no.” Ignis closes the fridge door. “If you mean right now, I’ve only been here half an hour.”

“Your job. You’re always working.”

“I’m not here only because it’s my job. Please never think that I’m only here out of duty.”

Noctis should feel more guilt over how satisfying it is to hear Ignis say that, but it only presses him onward.

“You don’t get frustrated with me?”

Ignis puts a hand on his hip and stares.

“Fair enough.” Noctis’ lips twitch in the corner. “But have you ever wished…” _You could do anything about that?_

“You always try better when I ask something of you,” says Ignis when Noctis doesn’t say anything for a minute. “Most of the time.”

Noctis might not be able to eat if he continues the conversation, so he leaves it settled on Ignis’ kindness. He hasn’t any other idea how he can spur Ignis into action except to bring up the punishment aspect. There has to be a better approach, one that doesn’t sound make him sound like an inept child in need of discipline. Especially not when Ignis is only two years older, and Noctis wants to fuck him before or maybe _while_ being spanked.

Noctis could order it, but then it wouldn’t be consensual, and it wouldn’t be love.

He has to find some other way to approach a subject he knows so little about. Until then, he draws countless circles with the tip of his finger on the upholstery, casting away every thought that enters his brain with a swipe.

~*~

The idea was a bad one. Noctis gets a grasp of how much when he enters the apartment and sees Ignis pacing in the main room. The place has been cleaned, though it only needed some minimal help of a trash bag and a vacuum. At least the chip crumbs on the sofa are gone. On the table sits a tote bag filled with magazines.

Noctis knows what they are because he ordered them.

Ignis’ expression is tight, with narrow eyes and no smile. It isn’t the sight Noctis wants to be greeted with, and he knows immediately that his plan has backfired in an ugly way.

He tries to ignore it as he walks over to the living room sofa and sits down.

“I opened your deliveries.”

“I see that.”

Ignis readjusts his glasses. “What if someone had tried to steal the parcels? It would have been a scandal if anyone found these before one of us.” He fingers the corner of the bag. “If you want something like this, there are better channels, ones that won’t link to you. And when you’re done with them, I can…dispose of them for you.”

“Is it that embarrassing?”

“Not to me,” says Ignis, the words washing reassurance over Noctis. “But imagine if someone had stolen your mail.”

“That doesn’t happen that often with security outside.”

“It could have been one of the security guards, Noct. If someone offers enough payment to dig up anything unsavory about you, do you think their loyalty will stand up to it?”

“Ignis, I’m sorry.” Noctis means it—every word spoken and more. Different emotions twist inside him, one negative thought spiraling to the next. “I didn’t mean to freak you out.”

It doesn’t soften the advisor. Ignis scoops up the handles of the bag, strides over, and thrusts it into Noctis’ arms.

“At least tell me when they need thrown out,” said Ignis. “Don’t toss them in the recycling bins. Paparazzi don’t mind digging through trash.”

Noctis pushes the bag to the floor. He is disgusted not only by the content of the publications, but he can’t help blaming them for the current tension.

“Ignis. Please.”

Ignis sinks into a different corner of the sofa. 

“I’m sorry, Ignis.”

“Noct, I know you are. I don’t mean to make you feel bad about your choices in reading material, this isn’t about that at all. I doubt you’d care about a scandal—the tabloids certainly make up enough lies about you to snatch up readers, as they have done for every generation of kings—but I know if anything were to trouble your father...”

Noctis had tried to use some amount of caution, but he hadn’t thought about it enough. He had used the name of a video game character for the mailing address and a gift card Prompto had picked up for him to make the purchases under his pseudonym. All he had expected was to imply something heavily to Ignis by leaving a trail of gay BDSM magazines strewn about the apartment.

“Did they arrive today?”

Ignis nods. “While I was here, fortunately. Perhaps I shouldn’t continue opening your mail, even if I wish you would use a different method of obtaining your…pleasures.”

Noctis has never once looked in a pornographic magazine to know if he would find it pleasing. The most intimate touch he has ever had with someone was his accidental booty grab with Prompto, and he slept through that. It isn’t as if he has ever had anyone he could talk to about his desires, either. Ignis, maybe, if he wasn’t the recipient of Noctis’ affections.

“It won’t happen again,” says Noctis. “There aren’t more coming. You can keep opening my mail. If I need something like that, I’ll ask.” He nudges the tote bag with the toe of his slipper. “I don’t think I’ll be running out any time soon.” As if he has any use for them beyond what they failed to accomplish.

It is tempting to pull one out and flip through it with Ignis sitting only a few feet away, but it is much easier to order something online as opposed to physically touching it.

“Did you look at them?” asks Noctis. “Flip through them?”

“No. I only saw the covers.”

“You’re not gonna ask?” 

“If that’s what you like, then…” Ignis fetches a can of Ebony from the fridge but returns after a minute. “I won’t pass judgment, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Noctis lowers his gaze. He can hardly see the cover of the topmost magazine, and it makes him sick. “I don’t know what’s in them and if I’d like it.”

“Noct, might I bring something up?”

It takes him a minute to think of what _not_ to say in reply. He settles for a nod.

“What you find in pornography is fictional. People aren’t shaped like that in real life—flawless, unscarred, with perfect…anatomy.” Ignis doesn’t look him in the eye. “Not to mention how often those portray extreme fantasies. Bondage, if not done properly, can lead to injury or chaffing.”

Noctis’ cheeks prickle from the incoming embarrassment.

“Don’t let the touchups on the photos fool you into believing that something they’re acting out is real and safe.”

“Ignis? How do you know this?”

“I have to listen to Gladiolus’ exploits, and he’s not the only one who talks.” Ignis sighs. “If you do try anything, I can secure the proper materials for you and your partner.”

 _You and your partner._ The words grind into Noctis’ chest, painful and sharp. “I don’t have anyone.”

“When you do,” amends Ignis.

“How do you know all of this, Ignis? Have you…?”

“No. I’m too busy for all that.” Ignis waves his hand dismissively, and as he does, Noctis thinks of catching it and making some kind of proposal that they try together.

He lets the hand fall to Ignis’ side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is 5 AM, so after all the anxiety about posting the next chapter, I decided to resign to my fate. I'm seven chapters in, writing-wise. I won't be happy until these two are holding hands while the only free one Ignis has is slapping Noct's ass so he can hear his delicious cries of ecstasy.
> 
> And based on all the chapters I've written so far where that doesn't happen, I have some work ahead of me.
> 
> Most importantly, let's talk about how Mr. "Noct Gar" is _so_ creative with names. He probably named himself after a fish species and not a video game character. Maybe he took the scientific name for an alligator gar...oh god, it ends with "spatula", I'm crying. Boy really does want spanked by a cook. 
> 
> ...More seriously, Noctis is confused on exactly what he wants and how it happens. The following chapters are committed to that. :') I hope you enjoy, and maybe it was sort of funny? I maybe made someone laugh? I like to make people laugh.


	4. Chapter 4

The call from Noctis comes sometime long after breakfast, while Ignis is on his morning jog. 

“Let’s do some training together, just the two of us,” says Noctis.

Ignis agrees because he wants to talk further about the magazines—as much as he loathes approaching the subject and embarrass Noctis further. The prince’s extra incentive to train might also impress Gladiolus. 

Before he is fully through the door of the Crownsguard training room, a lance soars through the air sideways. Ignis catches it in both hands in front of his chest.

“Hey, Ignis, I want to come up with combined moves.”

Ignis raises an eyebrow and the corner of his lips. “I like the sound of that,” he says. “What do you have in mind?”

Noctis shrugs. “Maybe take a flip toward the enemy and land our attacks at the same time?”

The passion in the prince’s voice reminds Ignis of a younger Noctis—the one before the Marilith attack. This Noctis resembled the little boy who had wanted to fight, who begged his father to tell him about his trips beyond the wall, who believed confrontation with fiends and daemons could be solved the way they were in the video games he loved.

“Let us practice that on a dummy.” Ignis helps Noctis move one out into the center of the gymnasium, where they have plenty of room to practice their flips. There are no mats to catch their falls. There won’t be any in real combat; there is a reason they keep potions and elixirs well stocked within the training areas.

Ignis expects battlefields won’t be as flat, either. All he has is the smooth surface of tiles to push his lance and feet from to send himself catapulting into the air. Noctis counts before they jump, too, but neither of them is synchronized. The two make their flips and land hits a few seconds apart. Noctis stumbles on his bad knee.

“Noct? Are you all right?”

“I’m good.” Noctis smiles, but the grimace sneaks its way in. But if he’d rather not bother with it, Ignis won’t pester. It’s rare for him not to take an opportunity to whine. Ignis is rather enjoying the enthusiasm.

“Did you get that move from a game?” asks Ignis.

“Sort of. Something similar. Let’s try again.”

They give it several tries. It’s more exhausting than swinging weapons at each other. It doesn’t help that Ignis wants to get the timing right, and as he flips into the air, he focuses most on Noctis. When he lands the blow and falls back on their seventh attempt, Ignis feels pain creep up around his ribcage. 

“I think I might’ve overdone that, twisted the wrong way.” Ignis sucks in a breath and bends over. 

“Same.” Noctis flops onto the ground and crosses his legs. He leans in, eyes closed. “It looked cool in my head.”

“We’ll get it, with practice.”

“Yeah.”

“Let’s head to the gym and do a few laps.”

Noctis groans. He either tolerates or hates most sports. The only exception has ever been fishing. They haven’t taken a trip out to the reservoir since Noctis was in high school, too. It used to be soothing to sit there with him, chatting about upcoming school events or news from the Citadel. Mostly, it was silent, so as not to scare the fish away.

Ignis misses those days. Their youths were crowded with expectation, but it seems kinder than the demands of adulthood. They need a break.

They agree to three laps, which comes out to about half a mile. It doesn’t take either of them long, though Ignis slows down to stay in step with Noctis. Their workout sneakers squeak against the resin of the floors. Ignis times his breathing with the rhythm. 

When they’re done, Noctis makes his way to a bench and groans as loud as he can.

“I want to fall into a bed and never leave.”

Ignis sits beside him. “I’ll drive you back to your apartment.”

There is silence for a few minutes.

“Are we going to ignore what happened last night?” asks Noctis in a low voice.

Ignis crosses his legs. “We don’t have to, if you don’t want to.”

“So it’s up to me.”

“The floor is all yours, your Highness.”

Noctis snorts and flings a small towel at Ignis. Good. Ignis could use to wipe the sweat off. He removes his glasses and pats at his face. Noctis isn’t the only one who is tired. He needs something to eat after all that exercise, too.

“Ignis, I know you want to talk.”

Of course he’ll deflect; Noctis has no idea what to say. It isn’t unusual for Ignis to handle his affairs, but this is one matter where it might not be prudent.

“What I want to discuss is possibly quite different from what you’re imagining,” says Ignis. “My only thought since last night is what you plan to do. I’ll be the one to clean up the mess if something goes wrong.” The issue is prickly, and Ignis wishes he could steer clear of it. “Be it a scandal or protecting you from an angry lover.”

“No, you…” Noctis sighs and shakes his head, damp hair swishing around his face. “You don’t have to worry about that. Not the protection part.”

“Oh, so the scandal is a concern, then.” Ignis chuckles. “I suppose I should be used to it. Remember all the mischief we got into as children?”

“You mean all the mischief _I_ got into.”

“I agreed to go along with everything.” Those times had been fun, similar to their training session from earlier when they tried to give some flair to their fighting techniques. They had been together. That’s the part that Ignis likes most. Not all of his time with Noctis is enjoyable, but despite the frustrations that might set off tension between them, they’re still friends, and Ignis loves him dearly.

“Ignis, I…”

Silence follows. Ignis is afraid to stare at the prince too long and send words tumbling back down his throat and into some abyss similar to the ones Noctis falls in during many of his moods. He waits, eyes cast toward the floor. Sometimes he takes a sip of water from his thermos.

“Thank you for all you do for me,” says Noctis, fists closed into balls at his knees, some of the cotton material of his pants caught between the twisting fingers. 

“Do you understand what’s in those magazines, Noct?” Ignis says it calmly, without judgment. 

“ _No_.” Noctis huffs.

“Did you look at them last night?”

“No way.” There is disgust in his voice. “I couldn’t touch…” He lowers his voice. “I need a shower. Can we talk about this at my place?”

“Yes, of course.” It is unlikely anyone overheard them. There are other training areas, other places for the Crownsguard and the Kingsglaive to go when they need practice. The only ones who might interrupt them are people who wouldn’t eavesdrop—Clarus, Gladiolus, Cor.

They take their showers and dress in casual clothing—the first Ignis has worn all day. He no longer smells like a sport team’s dirty laundry, but he dabs cologne on his neckline because he likes to smell not only presentable, but attractive.

Noctis leans in and sniffs the bottle before Ignis caps it and returns it to his bag.

“That’s new.”

“It came out a few months ago.”

“No, I mean for you. To wear. Fits you.”

It has a hint of pineapple, rose, and something woody, a combination that doesn’t come off strong enough to repel Ignis. 

“It isn’t overwhelming?”

“It’s just right.”

Ignis supposes that’s all he’ll get out of the unfashionable prince. If someone had allowed it, Noctis would have slipped under the softest sweatshirt during his early teens and not re-emerged until he graduated high school. Thank goodness for some standards, such as school uniforms and suits. 

But it’s a compliment, and it makes Ignis happier with his new choice of cologne.

~*~

There is only one light Noctis flips on when they return to his apartment: the one by the front door. He walks like a cat through the darkness otherwise. Ignis thinks it might be the evening view from the front room windows. The city is full of pockets of illumination coming from the buildings in the distance. Insomnia is beautiful at night. 

They’re late coming back. Regis had heard Noctis was in the building and summoned them to have dinner with him. Ignis had never eaten with the king before. The impromptu meal invite caused him some minor anxiety, but only because he kept thinking about the conversation he is about to have with Noctis.

Noctis throws himself onto the sofa, putting his slippered feet on the coffee table. Ignis grabs a can of Ebony before he sinks into another corner of the couch.

The magazines are still sitting in the tote bag on the floor, where Noctis rejected them the night before. It feels like the events of last night have picked up, as if there hasn’t been a day of exercise and nerves and overthinking that filled in almost thirty hours of their time. 

“Ignis, I’m scared.” Maybe the dark room makes it easier for him to say these things; it gives Ignis a similar sense of ease.

“You have a lot on your shoulders, Noct.”

“I want to be able to handle it. I don’t want to be annoying for anyone.”

“You’re not annoying.” 

Noctis smirks at that, which looks a little sinister when the only light comes in from the windows behind him. 

“Not all the time. You have your moments, Noct. If you don’t think Gladio and Prompto don’t sometimes get on my nerves, I can make you a list.”

Noctis waves him off. “I know that. I mean…”

“I have faith you’ll do what you need to do when the time comes. In any situation.”

Noctis stares at him for a while, and Ignis takes a sip of Ebony. His faith has been unwavering for a long time, and it doesn’t stem from his loyalty. He has never seen Noctis run away—at least, not far enough that he can’t turn back. And he always returns. Sometimes on his own, other times with a little push.

“Why did you order the magazines, Noct?”

Noctis _squirms_ , much to Ignis’ bewilderment. The lack of a snarky response is terrifying.

“I wanted you to see them.”

It takes Ignis a few minutes to digest this, and it goes down about as well as a sharp rock. “A prank?”

“No!” Noctis turns to stare at the wall opposite of Ignis, tugging on the hem of his shirt. “I wanted you to get ideas about me.”

“Noctis, you need to get it out or I’ll never understand what you’re trying to say.” Ignis can’t swallow down his frustration, as much as he hates to scold Noctis. “Skirting around the issue only succeeds in confusing me.”

“I want to do stuff with you.” Noctis waves a hand at the tote bag. “Maybe not like that. I don’t know. I wanted you to…see it. I wanted it to give you ideas for what…” He swallows. “What to do with me.”

The anger heats him, but Ignis takes a sip of his Ebony as he thinks of a civil response to this blatant attempt at manipulation. He’s more confused than he was a minute ago. 

“Asking works better than trickery,” says Ignis after some time and half a can of Ebony later. “I still have yet to understand your intentions. And I’m disgusted that you would think I would be tempted to do anything without discussing it with you first.”

“I’m sorry, Ignis…”

An apology helps; Noctis can mumble a half-hearted “sorry” if he swings his blade too close in the training room or warps overhead without warning, but he never dwells on it like he does now.

“Noctis, I think it would be best if you explained from the beginning. I’m still confused.”

“Ignis, I’m attracted to you,” Noctis tells the corner of the coffee table. 

Ignis wishes he could reject the confession, but the feeling has been mutual for some time. He settled for friendship long ago because Noctis must produce heirs, and no amount of medical breakthroughs will ever replace heterosexual coitus for procreation—especially not when the people look at the royal family with a more severe eye than they would at their neighbor. Adoption is out of the question for the bloodline of the kings of Lucis, and surrogacy is a word best never muttered within the Citadel. 

Kings previous to Mors were rumored to have kept lovers. Some are fact; a few had children out of wedlock, sons and daughters who grew up in the Crownsguard, whose powers equaled those of their half-siblings. 

“Noctis, I am fond of you.” Fuck, he sounds like an old man about to fire a young employee and less like someone thrilled for his love to be requited. “You must know why I’ve never confessed to you, even though I admit to feeling the same?”

“Of course I do.” Noctis shifts to face him, feet sliding out of their slippers. “Ignis, I know I’ll have to marry, and I’ll do it when the time comes. It’s my duty. But I want to be with you before and during that time.”

Ignis remains silent. Noctis has a lot of explaining to do and deserves the pressure of going unanswered for a bit.

“The stupid magazines were a suggestion. A bad one. I didn’t look at them. I thought if you saw them lying around, you’d realize the things I was into and try them on me. I should have known you wouldn’t.”

“You’re damn right about that,” says Ignis in a strangely calm voice before he takes the last sip of Ebony. He sets the can on the coffee table. “Any exchange I make with you would be entirely consensual.”

“I want it to be!” 

Ignis softens. Noctis is more confused than he is, and it’s troubling. 

“I’ve never had sex either, Noctis.”

“Wait, really?”

“I’ve turned down a number of dates from both men and women. As much as you are my friend, you’re also my duty, and I don’t shirk from that responsibility. Taking care of you matters most.”

Noctis offers him a weak, apologetic smile. “You haven’t dated? Gladio’s sworn to protect me, and even he has time for it.”

“I’ve admired and flirted. I’m young, and I’ve always expected that after you were married, I might have time to find someone and settle down. I’ve never thought to rush it.”

“But lots of people want to have sex.” Noctis kicks at the magazines, and some come spilling out. They’re vulgar, now that Ignis gets a good look at them. He doesn’t mind kinks, but the hypersexualized presentation, the doctored photos of buff people whose skin appears flawlessly taunt and smooth, the sheer amount of leather…

Ignis hates them, but if he voices his disgust, he might sound judgmental to Noctis.

“Are you interested in domination?” asks Ignis, pointing a finger at them. “I’ve been curious as to why you chose these particular magazines.”

“What? No. I don’t want to be _dominated_.” Noctis curls up his nose and gives the magazines another kick, bending back several pages in the corner of the topmost one. “I want to try things that come before sex.”

Ignis wants to press for further questions, especially because few people ever have the power to make a prince blush, and if there’s one thing Ignis feels wicked about, it’s enjoying that.

“You could be the dominant one,” suggests Ignis.

“No, no! Ignis, _no_.”

Ignis laughs, and somehow he gets one out of Noctis, too.

“I guess I kind of want to be dominated. I don’t know. I’ve never tried anything.”

“If I have time, you have even more of it, Noctis. You needn’t rush into sex or relationships. For now, we can start with a kiss.”

“That means…?”

Ignis nods. “If you’ll accept my feelings, I shall accept yours.”

Noctis sighs in relief and relaxes against the sofa. Ignis leaves his spot to sit beside the prince, one knee tucked under him and his hand behind Noctis along the back of the couch. 

“May I?” asks Ignis.

“Yes.” Noctis whispers the words breathlessly as he turns to face Ignis, and the blush reaches his ears. 

Ignis tucks a hand under Noctis’ chin, one thumb brushing across his soft lips briefly. Their eyes meet before Ignis tilts his head and kisses Noctis. The feeling of having finally done it spreads like warmth across his shoulders and downward. They do not press hard against one another, but their lips linger until Ignis withdraws. He takes a breath, having held his for a few seconds.

“Again?” asks Noctis, glancing up at Ignis through his lashes, and the advisor obliges gladly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was distracted with another FFXV fic, but I finished it so...back to editing this. (And writing it; I don't know how long this will be, probably around 30k? But we'll see.)
> 
> The next chapter: Noctis takes a peek at those magazines out of curiosity. He has mixed feelings and is even more confused!
> 
> also, the Citadel has a gym that I added because I COULD


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to start by saying there's nothing wrong with leather or anything else Noctis isn't into in this story, but this is Noctis exploring what he likes, not what other people should! Everyone has their thing. Poor Noct just hasn't found _his_ thing yet. I wanted this story to be more about how impact play with someone he deeply trusts can help him when he's not good at getting things out in words, 'cos it's fun to explore how nuanced it can be. This is the softest of softcore spanking, ahaha.

It takes Noctis a few minutes of rummaging around in his closet to find the tote bag of magazines. Ignis stored them away at his request, but the temptation to study his filthy contraband has finally won out.

He pinches the corner of one book inside and slides it onto his lap. The image on the cover is of two men who are nearly as built as Gladiolus, leather taunt against their otherwise bare skin. One has the other pinned to a wall by the wrists, their faces an inch apart with faces angled toward the camera.

The cover is tame compared to the content. Noctis flips through images of slings—he only knows what they’re called because of the so-called articles accompanying each photoset—and bondage which is exclusively performed with more leather. 

Noctis will never be able to gaze at any of the Kingsglaive members again without thinking of the pornography being burned into his mind.

The magazine doesn’t work for him. He sets it aside when it proves to have nothing of the content he had hoped to spot. The next is similar, with a gentler approach. There are people in suits fucking in office shots, men being pulled by their ties and…

Noctis lets out a pleased, tiny gasp from his throat, his cock responding to photograph of one man bending another over a desk with his hand poised for striking. The caption kills a little his arousal when he reads it: _Punished for Insubordination_

Noctis continues to flip through with a finger between the pages to mark its location. The image is nice enough, perhaps a little too _cold_ for his tastes. The men are at a distance. No connection is made between the models involved. It isn’t real, and it isn’t love, and the idea of punishment makes Noctis’ stomach uneasy. 

He flips through magazine after magazine. Many of them are cluttered with awkward positions and sizeable genitalia that makes Noctis feel utterly inferior. It’s impersonal. Not _real_. And all of it is starting to piss him off. He needs to find something close enough to what he wants so he doesn’t have to explain it to Ignis in words, instead showing him. They can work with the details as they go.

He spots an intriguing article several magazines later. Most of the photos are of men in casual clothing, with only a few in anything nicer—things normal people would wear. The photoset that catches his attention is of two guys close in age to him who look to be in some kind of courtyard garden. They start fully clothed, kissing passionately. There is a little nuzzling as clothing is stripped. One of the men raises a hand to land a smack on the other’s ass, and the following picture shows how red the other’s cheeks have become since the last image. 

This is the sort of content that would work. It isn’t perfect, but it’s a start—something that he can show Ignis. He slips into bed and fishes out his lubricant.

He stares at the well-defined ass of the other guy. That’s what he wants Ignis to do to him, to make him red and aroused. Noctis’ hips jerking clumsily as he strokes his cock. Having stared at Ignis many times before, he has the length of his legs memorized, imagining himself draped across them. How hard would Ignis hit, and would he caress the skin after, murmuring soft words into Noctis’ ear?

He can feel himself about to come. Not wanting to get the magazine filthy, he flings it to the floor. 

A cry escapes his lips. He often muffles his noises with a pillow, but it’s nice to let it out in shuddering breaths as he wipes himself off with his sheet. He’ll have to change the bedding again, but he’s tired. He tucks himself back inside his boxer briefs and yawns. Laundry can wait until after he sleeps. 

He curls against a pillow, marveling at how much warmth is radiating off of him. He almost doesn’t need a blanket, but he pulls up the covers and closes his eyes. 

~*~

Noctis curls into Ignis’ side while they read. They each have their own stacks of reports. Noctis peels a colored label and smooths it on the page that marks upcoming events he’s obligated to attend. Some are social galas, which he especially hates. The rest are meetings. It’s important he attends those above all else, even if he often doesn’t participate. He tries to take notes, but he tends to pass the time with a concealed phone, playing any of the six or so games he has downloaded at the time.

Ignis and Noctis make an exchange during one of their breaks. Ignis hands Noctis a bottle of water, and Noctis gives him the list of bookings to schedule. 

“Ignis?”

“Yes, Noct?”

“When can we try more things?” Noctis takes a few sips, eyeing Ignis carefully over the bottom of his bottle. 

“You’re referring to intimacy?”

Noctis nods.

“You’ll have to tell me what you want first.”

It feels much like all those times Gladiolus has chided Noctis to speak up and get to the point, which makes Noctis want to shut down. But communication errors nearly hurt them two weeks ago.

“Hold on,” says Noctis, leaving to fetch the magazine with the photoset that had appealed to him so much the night before last. He had rescued it from his floor and put it inside the same drawer which held his lubrication and condoms—condoms he has never used before. He has no idea how to even put them on.

He returns with the photoset open, the pages bent back so that Ignis doesn’t have to hunt for it. 

The advisor takes the magazine carefully, letting out a chuckle.

“I take it you decided to have a look anyway?” asks Ignis. “How long did it take you?” He lifts a mug and takes a sip of his coffee.

“Two days ago.”

Ignis raises an eyebrow. “That’s longer than expected.”

Noctis flops down beside Ignis and peers over at the photoset. Ignis follows his eyes and examines the page. Too frightened to see how Ignis is taking it, Noctis keeps his gaze focused on the two men and their increasingly rough activities.

“Do you like impact play, Noct?”

“What’s that?” asks Noctis, grumpy that he has to ask. Is this another thing he doesn’t know?

“Spanking.”

The word makes him squirm, a thrill spiraling to his dick.

“Yeah, I guess. It’s hot.”

“And you want to give? Receive?” Ignis leans in closer until their noses are only a few inches apart. He’s smiling, his gaze soft and steady.

“Receive,” Noctis mumbles, lowering his eyes until Ignis tucks his hand beneath his chin and draws his attention back. “I don’t know what I’ll like until I try it,” he admits, his voice clear and hard.

“We can take everything as slowly as you need to. I won’t do anything you don’t ask for, and if you don’t like it, we can stop immediately.”

The idea of trying now is almost too much for him. As much as he is aroused, he’s far more terrified than he expected. 

Ignis leans in, waiting a breath for Noctis to pull away before he leaves a chaste kiss on Noctis’ lips. It is meant to comfort, and it works. Ignis lowers his hand from Noctis’ chin, sets the magazine on the coffee table, and settles back against the sofa. One arm extends out. Noctis accepts, sinking against Ignis’ side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am overwhelmed by the kindness of everyone leaving kudos, commenting, just...reading this fic at all. Thank you. When I see people are enjoying it, it means so much to me.


	6. Chapter 6

When the meeting is adjourned, Regis calls Ignis aside for a chat. The advisor slips his notes into a file and scoops up his planner before he follows the king into his office. Clarus joins them.

“How is my son?” asks Regis, easing into his chair with help of its arm and his cane. As Ignis opens his mouth, Regis holds up a palm. “As quick as you can, please. I’m afraid I don’t have much time before taking a call with Secretary Claustra in…” He glances at the clock. “Nine minutes.”

“We’ve sorted his schedule. He’ll be at the gala this weekend. His suit required some adjustments, but I’ve sent it to the tailor.”

“No, _how_ is he? I’m glad I’ll see him this weekend, if only enough to say hello, but I want to know if he is well.”

Ignis is at a loss for the appropriate words. “Healthy, of course.” As healthy as someone can be wallowing in a week’s worth of trash and stress, he supposes, but there’s no reason to burden the king. “He’s being moved up to a cooking position at his part time job. One of the cooks is leaving to study in Altissia, and they need someone to fill the position temporarily.”

Regis laughs. “Cooking, you say?”

Ignis grins. “Yes, I’m afraid a future Insomnia will be rating their next leader based on how he poisoned them twenty years prior to taking the throne.”

“Do what you can to keep that from happening.”

“I’ve certainly tried, your Majesty. At least it’s only fast food. If Prince Noctis can’t flip a hamburger, I’m afraid we might all be in trouble. I’ve taught him some basics, so he should manage.”

“Thank you. I appreciate what you’ve done for my son. I’m afraid we don’t have much time, so if you’ll excuse me…” 

Ignis bows and leaves the office just as he hears the shrill ring of the phone. Before he heads out to check on Noctis, he has two other stops to make. One is to see Gladiolus, and the other is to pick up ingredients for dinner. He’ll be dining alone, since Noctis has invited Prompto over for another night of video games—a slight break from a recent rise in events and other royal work.

The lights are on inside the Amicitia manor when Ignis pulls into the drive, but no one answers when he rings the buzzer. Ignis sends off a brief text to Gladiolus. After several minutes, Gladiolus answers the door, Iris popping up next to him with a grin on her face. Both of them are dripping with sweat in workout clothing. 

“Hello, Iggy!”

“Evening, Iris, Gladio.” 

Gladiolus steps to the side. “Come on in. We were sparring.”

“And I was winning,” says Iris smugly.

“That’s ‘cos you’re too damn fast,” says Gladiolus, but the pride in his voice is unmistakable. He jabs his thumb over his shoulder as she trots up the stairs and whispers, “And she can kick hard, too.”

Ignis chuckles. “I’m glad to see that you’re both living up to the Amicitia name.”

“Damn right.” Gladilous grunts and waves him toward the living room. “Find a seat. I’ll be down once I’ve showered and changed.”

Ignis passes his time by signing into a game on his phone. He has some log in treats to collect for the day, and he thinks there might be some new timed events going on that might merit him enough stones to use on one of the gatchas. He’s midway through his third battle when Gladiolus plops down beside him.

“Huh, haven’t seen that game before,” says Gladiolus, glancing over Ignis’ shoulder. “So what’s up?”

“I would like to train with you more often,” says Ignis, finishing up the battle and collecting his rewards before he shuts it off. “It won’t be with Noct, and I’m going to ask you not to tell him.”

“What, you don’t wanna train with him?”

“More like I wouldn’t want him to worry,” says Ignis.

Gladiolus snorts.

“He _does_ worry about us, Gladio. He might not voice his concerns, but he’ll fret in silence, and I don’t think I can take the brooding. He’s aware of how much he relies on us. Besides, I want to be ready.”

Gladiolus shifts in his seat, frowning.

“The transition between kings is always a difficult period, and I don’t know how much longer before King Regis must step down or…” Even if Ignis would like to think of Regis as more immortal than Cor, he must shake off his childish views and anticipate the worst. “Niflheim is going to test Noctis. We must be prepared for anything.”

“Another reason not to tell Noct why you’re training harder.”

“Precisely.”

“You think it’s coming soon?”

“I spoke privately for a moment with King Regis, and he’s the same as he has been for some time, but that isn’t promising.”

“Yeah, I get it. Dad doesn’t talk about what goes on at the Citadel. I figure that might be why he takes longer to get home these days, and when he does, he always brings more work with him.”

“I imagine it’s hard on him.”

“Dad’s strong. Always has been. It’s a part of his duty, but he also cares about King Regis.”

Ignis nods. He understands how Clarus feels. He wouldn’t be able to function as Noctis’ advisor if the two of them weren’t close. It helps that they have bonded since childhood. Other people might even consider them like brothers, but Ignis hates the sound of that—it makes his current relationship sound morally abhorrent.

“There’s something else I’d like to disclose to you, Gladio.”

“Less depressing, I hope.”

Ignis grimaces. “I’ve been engaging in romantic relationships with Noct.”

Gladiolus raises an eyebrow at him and smirks. Ignis’ mouth twitches a few seconds, fighting the smile, but he can’t help it. He’s happier the past few weeks than he’s let anyone in on. It’s nice to tell someone.

“Figured it’d happen sooner. Noct stares at you more than I catch Prompto staring at me. He keeps taking pictures with his phone. Not that I mind.” Gladiolus stretches out, flexing his physique.

“Prompto does seem rather fond of you. I didn’t expect you to notice.”

“Eh, you think I don’t know when someone’s admiring me?”

Ignis has been in a bar often enough with Gladiolus to know that it’s more noticeable when people aren’t ogling. 

“So what’s it like, being the one who fucks the prince?” asks Gladiolus.

“I haven’t.”

“Figures.”

“Don’t be crude.”

“I ain’t judging. I doubt Noct has any experience—he’s too distant with people to have gotten that close to anyone but us. He made one friend in high school, but everyone else he’s know, he’s known because he’s the prince. We wouldn’t be his friends if he were anyone else. And I’m willing to bet he’s Prompto’s only friend, too.”

“We’re Prompto’s friends.”

“Only because we met him through Noct.”

“True enough. I can’t say that I have many friends, either. I’ve got acquaintances, people I work with day to day. I don’t feel as if I’m missing anything by only having the three of you.”

“You still talk to people, though. Noct can’t go to a social event without slipping off to some dark corner or another.”

“Even if he isn’t a sociable prince, this isn’t like monarchies of storybooks. We rely on the king to protect and arm us, and even if some feathers are ruffled by the richer classes of the Crown City, it isn’t as if anyone can overthrow him without resigning themselves to Imperial rule.”

Gladiolus grunts and kicks his feet onto the coffee table. “I bet some would do just that.”

“Then we’d best prepare for the possibility.”

“I think some of the citizens forget what it’s like outside the wall. It’s a story to them. Have you ever been out there?”

“No, I haven’t, but I understand what you mean. Some of us take the reports of daemon attacks and hunter outposts seriously. Have you ever left?”

“With my dad, yeah. Never far—just a little ways outside of Insomnia. He wanted to prepare me, so we’ve gone demon hunting.”

What might be called a nightmare for others is family bonding night for the Amicitia family.

“I’ve never seen a daemon. Only depictions of them in books and photographs.” The latter always has an ominous feel; most recovered snapshots were taken by the deceased, likely killed by the daemons in the images. “But I remember the Marilith attack.” It is almost as vivid to him as the gut-twisting days following the attack on Tenebrae, when even as reports flew in of the king and his son’s survival, there was no guarantee that either of them would make it back alive.

“I do, too…” Gladiolus pushes himself to his feet. “You want something to drink?”

Ignis considers this a moment before he remembers his other errand. “No. I have to see Noct, and before that, I need to get ingredients for dinner.”

“Cooking him a romantic meal?”

“More like dining in solitude in my apartment. Prompto is over, and the two of them insisted on pizza. Or rather, Noct did. Prompto has expressed interest in trying my cuisine.”

Gladiolus laughs as he leads the way to the front door. As Ignis is stepping out, he says, “I’ll text you my schedule in a couple of days. We’ll figure out what new time slots work for your extra training.”

Ignis nods and takes his leave, trying to distract from his fears with thoughts of what he might cook for dinner.

~*~

When Ignis stops by to pick up Prompto and Noctis the next morning, he is greeted with an annoying sight. He has no doubt that Noctis is going to pick up the litter, but he still has to wade through a mess to wake them.

Prompto is agreeable. He sits up, rubs his eyes, and mutters a friendly greeting in recognition. The prince, however, grumbles and turns on the sofa, his back to Ignis.

“You should have slept in the bed,” says Ignis. “This isn’t good for your back.” He should know; he has spent a few nights on it.

“I tried to move him last night, but he was passed out,” says Prompto.

“Yes, once he’s out…” Ignis frowns and gives Noctis another shake on the arm. A hand snakes up and bats him away. “Noct. We all have training.”

“Pass.”

“That’s not an option.”

Prompto slips away to use the bathroom. At least one of them is willing to do as he is told, though Ignis suspects with the amount of time he spends inside, Prompto is grooming himself to look somewhat presentable to Gladiolus. 

“Noctis, I’ll open the curtains.”

Noctis responds by grabbing a pillow and clamping it down over his head with one palm. That won’t shield him from the sunlight, and his arm will tire from holding it in place. Ignis draws the curtains, brightening the living room with a theatrical whoosh.

The groan following is one of the longest Ignis has ever heard. If anyone is being dramatic, the prince wins this round.

“Up, up, up.” Ignis practically sings the word.

“Sleep, sleep, sleep.” Noctis lifts up into a sitting position, grimacing against the light pouring in.

“Good morning.”

“You have half of that right. It’s morning.”

“But not good? Did you not sleep well?”

“Stayed up late. Didn’t pay attention to the time. Then I fell asleep on this thing.” Noctis punishes the sofa by slapping the pillow down on it. “I always regret it, too.”

“Prompto says he tried to get you to bed.”

“I don’t remember.”

Ignis sighs. “Anyway, once he’s finished fixing his hair into a style that still looks like bedhead, you need to get ready.”

Noctis yawns.

“You know it’ll be worse if you try to cancel. Gladio can and will carry you. He’s certainly done it before.”

“I’ll go.” A nerve has been struck. The last time Gladiolus dared toss Noctis over his shoulder and drag him to the Citadel, the two didn’t speak for the rest of the day. 

When Noctis emerges from his room in sweats, t-shirt, and running shoes, with a gym bag slung over his shoulder, Prompto is halfway through eating a fruit salad. 

“Mm, adding pineapple juice was a good idea,” says Prompto. “Thanks for the tip, Iggy.”

“Of course.” 

Noctis snags a muffin from a packet and rips it open. Ignis wants to offer him something healthier than a prepackaged muffin that has a questionably long shelf life, but they’re running out of time. 

Ignis tends to be on time, but certain people have a habit of making him late. Which is often why he comes by early.

A lot of good that does.

“Shotgun!” calls Prompto as they make their way down the elevator. 

“I don’t know why you call it all the time,” says Noctis, yawning. “I always ride in the back of Ignis’ car. More space to sleep.”

While they’re making their way down the parking garage, Ignis feels fingers tickling against his palm. He glances down as Noctis latches their hands together. It only last a few seconds before the mechanical doors slide open. Prompto bounces out. By the time he swings around to look at them, it as if the two never touched.

“I forgot my medicine!” groans Prompto.

“Isn’t it in your bag?” asks Noctis.

“It’s at home.”

“We can swing by your house on the way to the Citadel,” says Ignis. “But you get to be the one to tell Gladio why we’re late.”

Why does he ever bother trying to be on time with these two?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure if I am entirely happy with this chapter even after going through and editing it a few times, but...next chapter actually has some forms of sex? So there's that?


	7. Chapter 7

Noctis thumbs the corner of the magazine, listening to the satisfying sound of pages tapping against each other. Beside him, Ignis is checking out another edition, occasionally letting out snorts of derision. Noctis feels the same, but he’s less vocal about it.

They’ve got their backs to the headboard, and Noctis had hoped by inviting Ignis into his bed, they would do more than flip through pornography. But Ignis is adamant that they discuss boundaries. The magazines help. Noctis has pointed out several things he _doesn’t_ want to do, along with some he’s not sure he _can_.

“This is nice,” says Ignis, leaning in to give Noctis a view of the photo. Two men are entangled on a bed, fingers laced together as one leaves a pattern of light bite marks on the skin of his partner’s neck and shoulders.

Noctis tries to imagine it. “Can I bite you?” he asks, when he considers it.

Ignis shifts so he’s closer. “You can certainly try. Start gently.”

Noctis rests a hand on Ignis’ neck. It is warm—Ignis’ entire body radiates a delicious heat that makes him want to snuggle closer. The magazines fall from their laps to the bed as they close the distance.

Where to bite? Ignis has beautiful lips. Noctis leans in and starts with a kiss before he sets his teeth around the skin. He tests a little harder when he gets a pleased hum from Ignis, noting the hitching of the tactician’s breathing.

“That was nice,” says Noctis when he pulls away.

“I concur. Again?”

Noctis seldom is the one to serve Ignis, but he does so gladly. He straddles one leg, tracing kisses along Ignis’ neck before he turns them into nips. The advisor moans beneath him. Noctis can feel him getting hard with their bodies pressed close. 

“You definitely like that.” Noctis grins and takes the lobe of his ear in his mouth, not using teeth but pressing with his lips. He slides it away and nuzzles against Ignis’ shoulder.

“May I?” Noctis feels fingers brush against the front of his pants. 

Noctis nods.

Gentle rubbing makes him lean further into Ignis, one arm around his neck. He lets out a deep moan. He feels hot beneath his clothing. 

“Ignis, please…”

“Too much?”

“Not enough.”

“What should the word be, if it becomes too much?”

“‘Stop’?”

Ignis chuckles and pauses to give Noctis a kiss on the tip of his nose. “And if you cry that out ironically?”

“Oh.” Noctis thinks. 

“A safe word. Perhaps two—one for slowing down, another to stop completely. Words that should be taken seriously by both of us.”

Noctis is caught between acknowledgment and passion. He moves his hips, pressing his dick toward Ignis’ cupped palm. Words and clothes are a distraction, but a necessary one if they’re to continue to trust one another.

“Ivalice to slow down, Archadia to stop?” Noctis pulls the words from a popular video game he has been playing.

“Ivalice. Archadia.” The way Ignis says them is far too sensual to be legal, but Noctis suspects that any words from the advisor’s mouth could sound sexy in the right tone. “I can remember those.”

“What’s the word we’ll use if we want to keep going?” asks Noctis, grinding against Ignis’ hand.

“Continue,” whispers Ignis cheekily as he removes his hand and tucks his thumbs at the waistband of Noctis’ sweats. He lowers them, boxer briefs included. “Where is your lubricant, Noct?”

Noctis reaches toward the nightstand and slides open a drawer. Ignis is kind enough to rub a dollop of lube between his palms to warm it before he wraps around Noctis’ cock. 

Noctis can’t help it; he thrusts his hips and lets out a choked cry. After having quieted his moans when he masturbates, it is second nature to suppress any noises of pleasure. Ignis tests his ability to muffle any noise.

Ignis strokes, his movements slow and teasing. He uses his spare hand to fondle Noctis’ balls, and coming is imminent at this rate; Noctis feels the heat rising through him, searing through his mind, a flash of color blurring behind his tightly closed eyes. A cry forces his way up his throat and past his lips before he can hold it back. It takes the tension out of him. He comes across Ignis’ abdomen and slumps against him, fingers gripping the shoulders of Ignis’ shirt.

There he melts into Ignis’ embrace, vaguely aware that his partner has had nothing to satisfy his needs. He closes his eyes and steadies his breath. He could dream easily if he wanted, but he doesn’t—sleep has found a worthy rival, at least for tonight.

“Can I?” asks Noctis after he has had time to recover. He can feel Ignis beneath his palm, still hard. 

They make eye contact. Ignis nods.

Noctis has something different in mind for Ignis. He unbuttons his jeans and eases the zipper down. Ignis lifts his hips off the bed long enough for Noctis to lower both pants and boxer briefs.

Ignis has softened a little since their biting. Noctis adjusts his body, but as he’s leaning down, mouth open to persuade Ignis’ cock to attention, Ignis puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Noct. Condoms.”

“For this?”

“Absolutely for this. Always. Never expect less of me than the fullest protection.” Even as a lover, Ignis puts his safety first. Noctis can’t help but smile at the advice.

Noctis nods towards the bedside table. “In there.”

Ignis rummages in the drawer and fishes out a packet. “I’ll try this one,” he says.

“I’ll put it on.”

“Do you know how?”

“I have an idea.” Those terrible magazines have helped at least in some ways.

Noctis takes the package between his lips so he can rub Ignis’ balls. This elicits the expected reaction. Noctis tears the foil open with his teeth, careful not to snag the rubber condom inside. It is easier to roll it against Ignis’ length now that he’s fully aroused again.

Noctis takes Ignis in his mouth. Ignis doesn’t buck his hips with violent jerks, instead allowing Noctis do to all the work. It is difficult for Noctis to keep his teeth out of the way, especially when he fears tearing the condom. Twice, he almost gags as Ignis’ head travels deep into his throat. 

Ignis comes. Noctis can feel it gather in the tip of the condom with his tongue. He pulls away, shyly looking up at Ignis.

Two hands seize the sides of his face, fingers messing his hair. A hard kiss on the lips says what Ignis doesn’t: _thank you._

Noctis scoots up and curls into Ignis’ waiting embrace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is Noct ever going to get his spanking? (Yes, because I've written it already.)
> 
> Until then, they're...in testing territory. New stuff. I imagine Ignis is all about safe sex. He has had access to more information (some of it coming from Gladio) than Noct, so...it's another thing he advises him on. 
> 
> Noct: "sexy erryday~"  
> Ignis: "it's a start."


	8. Chapter 8

It is a bad week.

Ignis notes the way Regis holds himself during the meeting, but there is a spark of anger in his eyes as he listens to the reports coming in from beyond the wall. Skirmishes are breaking out; magitek troopers have been dispatched near Insomnia in the Cavaugh region. 

It feels a lot like Galahd all over again.

The first meeting goes on for six hours. Ignis immerses himself in planning a tactical response with the council. They don’t suspect that the Empire is planning anything soon, but the intent is obvious: _Lucis is ours for the taking. Look how close we are._

Ignis needs to check on Noctis, too. They’ve both been busy. Noctis has been taking more work hours now that he’s cooking rather than resigned to washing dishes, and Ignis has been at the Citadel for no less than eleven hours a day, and that doesn’t include his training. He gets texts from Noctis, but they’re few and far between. They’ve sneaked kisses when Gladiolus and Prompto aren’t looking in the locker room. Otherwise, the two have not had time for themselves.

Three days later, Ignis doesn’t get a text from Noctis. His concern mounts, and despite his physical and mental exhaustion, he leaves the Citadel and drives to the prince’s apartment. 

It is the kind of mess Ignis has come to expect from Noctis during his lower periods. A work apron lies near the doorway, next to the line of shoes. Dishes haven’t been done in days, and there is a stench coming from the cold soapy water filling one half of the sink as well as another wafting from the overflowing trash. 

Ignis pokes his head in the bedroom. A lump lies under a pile of thick comforters. The little light that travels into the room from the open door reveals a mess of clothing, opened packages of food, and papers littering the floor. A light blinks in the corner from a game system; it has been left on despite that the television is off. Ignis switches it off before he shuts the door. He’ll clean up a bit of the front room before Noctis wakes. 

After rolling up his sleeves, he reaches a hand in and yanks the plug on the sink. The stench is not alleviated greatly; the dishes inside still have bits of fermenting food on them. If anyone wanted to write a scandal on the prince, all they would need to do would be to get a quick snapshot of his apartment at its worst. The people would call him a slob, too unfit to rule a country. Ignis doesn’t want Noctis judged for his mental illness. There was a time even he couldn’t see these signs as distress; he hasn’t quite forgiven himself for his previous severity.

Ignis refills the sink with steaming water and a fresh dose of soap. As the dishes soak, he tackles the trash until the original bag can seal and there are two more. With care, he gathers up the packages on the floor of Noctis’ room, pausing occasionally when the prince stirs. Sometimes Noctis lets out a little pained grunt. Either it is his knee or nightmares. 

Loads of laundry are gathered but not started. Ignis decides it would be better to sort them later, when he has had some rest. He might even take them back to his apartment. For now, at least they’re off the floor. Tomorrow, he can swing by and properly vacuum.

Ignis makes it through most of the dishes when Noctis stumbles out of his bedroom in nothing but a shirt and a pair of shorts, one hand scratching his belly while the other rubs away sleep from his eyes. 

“Good evening, Noct.”

A warm form slams into his side, and Ignis nearly drops a plate. Noctis keeps Ignis’ arms locked in his hold, head resting against his shoulder.

“Are you all right?” asks Ignis, letting the dish slip into the water. 

The embrace relaxes enough for Ignis to rinse his hands and arms. 

“Just tired, that’s all.” Noctis withdraws, padding over to the sofa and flopping down. “Thanks for cleaning the apartment.”

“It’s far from done.”

“Good enough for me.”

Ignis hardly considers a carpet littered with bits of stepped-on chips, a fridge that likely holds expired items, and three baskets overfilled with laundry to be “good enough” for anyone. 

There are tears in Noctis’ eyes when Ignis sits beside him. He swipes at them in frustration with the wrist of his hoodie sleeve, his nose curled and lip trembling with anger.

“I take it you’ve heard news from the Citadel,” says Ignis. They had avoided the topic in their texts, instead offering vague messages to check on one another—not able to say the things people might to their lovers in case of prying eyes. The most Ignis knows is if Noctis ate and what’s been going on with his schedule.

“Damnit,” mutters Noctis. “I can’t do this, Ignis.”

“You can, and you will.”

Noctis kicks at the coffee table, but his slipper never connects. His foot holds in the air, the temptation to connect snapped back by a thin thread of the prince’s self-discipline. 

“Have you eaten today?”

Silence.

“Have you had anything to drink?”

Ignis stands a few minutes later and fills a glass with water. Noctis drinks half of it before handing it back, which is a start, but that doesn’t make Ignis any less worried.

“What did you do today?” asks Ignis gently.

“Worked late last night. Played video games till morning. Read today’s reports.” There is a pause between each sentence. “Slept.”

“How long?”

“In and out.”

That could mean hours of tossing and turning before Ignis arrived, or it could mean the prince was in bed less than an hour before his arrival. Neither bodes well, but there’s little he can do to make it better outside of his current attempts. A handful of glaives have already been dispatched to take care of the situation in Cavaugh. If Noctis has already read the reports sent over to him, he knows that. Saying it won’t reassure him any further.

“I can call in food for you.”

“Sure.”

“What would you like?”

Noctis shrugs. Ignis makes the decision by plucking the first order menu from the top of the fridge. He orders enough for both of them. Sleep can wait a little longer. Perhaps…

“Would it trouble you if I stayed the night?” asks Ignis.

Noctis widens his eyes. “Would you do that for me?”

“It’s for me as well, Noct. I’m tired, too. If I had the energy, I would finish cleaning, start a load of laundry, and fix you a proper meal. I can do all that early in the morning if I stay, and maybe you’ll sleep better with company.”

“So you’ve noticed that.”

“You sleep better with Prompto over, too. Has he been to visit?”

Noctis shakes his head. “His parents had the weekend off.”

Ignis has some idea of how hard every member of the Argentum family works; even Prompto has taken on a job in-between his extra training sessions with Cor. It was at the marshal’s advice that he practice balancing multiple responsibilities. The family rarely sees each other due to these conflicting schedules. Ignis lost his parents long ago, but he is grateful to see his uncle often since they work in close proximity to one another. There is always time to pass along well wishes and updates even at the most hectic of times. 

“Thanks, Ignis.”

“Of course.”

“No, thank you. I’m not sure I could handle anything on my own right now. I’m sorry you’re tired and still taking care of me.”

Ignis smiles and smooths Noctis’ bangs away from his forehead. He leans in for a soft kiss, something to reassure the prince that he doesn’t mind in the least, that he’s glad to do so—even beyond what his duty states, he would follow Noctis to wherever.

~*~

Noctis wakes him in the middle of the night. At first, Ignis thinks the prince is still asleep and has simply scooted closer for more reassurance and warmth. One hand clutches the front of his tee shirt. It’s the sucking of breath that alerts Ignis.

Ignis hasn’t often seen Noctis cry in front of people since they were children. It used to be the prince fussed for all sorts of reasons when they first met at the ages of three and six. And he’s been known to still cry at the sad cutscenes in games. But when the pressure on his shoulders weighs him down, Noctis goes quiet. His tears dampen the pillows during the nights where no one sees them. Even now, the prince is forcing his breath steady.

If Noctis holds anything more in, he’ll break.

“Noct?” whispers Ignis in the dark.

No answer but the tightened grip on his shirt.

Ignis shifts so he can put an arm around Noctis. In response, Noctis grinds against him.

This isn’t the usual frustration. And that wasn’t crying.

“Ignis.”

Ignis pulls away into a sitting position. He can only make out a blurry outline of Noctis’ face in the bad lighting, though the lack of glasses doesn’t make anything clearer. Noctis rises with him, pressing a kiss against Ignis’ lips so hard the advisor feels teeth against the skin.

Ignis forcefully pulls him away and hisses, “Archadia.”

The muscles pressing at Ignis' palms relax; the prince shrinks away. “Sorry, Ignis. Didn’t mean to do that.”

“You did,” says Ignis, not buying the apology or that this was in any way an accident.

“Ignis, I’m…” Noctis takes a deep breath. “That was stupid.”

“Reckless,” corrects Ignis. He pats the top of the covers until he finds Noctis’ hand in the dark. He laces their fingers together and squeezes. “Don’t be ashamed that you have needs.”

Noctis lets out a bitter, heavy laugh. “A little late for that.”

Ignis uses his free hand to rub circles on the back of Noctis’. “Tell me what you want.”

“To scream.”

Ignis waits for emphasis; there are many ways in which to make that happen, none of which he’s certain is what the prince wants. For several minutes, the room is quiet except for their breathing. Noctis’ comes in jagged. Ignis continues to massage Noctis, working up through his wrist and easing him closer.

The prince pulls away and leaves the bed. Light floods the room, and Ignis blinks against the brightness as he fumbles on the bedside table for his glasses. Once they’re on, it still takes a couple of minutes for adjustment. He feels the weight of Noctis on the bed beside him.

“Is it still…Archadia?” asks Noctis in a low voice.

“Ivalice. Slowly, Noct. For both our sakes.” Ignis doesn’t feel as much urgency to do anything; he is still sleepy from only four hours of rest. A glance at the clock tells him they still have six hours before either of them is required to wake up and get ready for the day. They had gone to bed early to face the morning as such, but this interruption in their rest cycles will make that more difficult. 

“If you want to wait until morning…”

“I’d prefer it, but I’m worried. If we went back to bed, could you sleep?”

Noctis shakes his head. “No. Ignis…I need to let it out. I have to yell, but I don’t know how.”

“You have an idea,” says Ignis. “Do you need to hit something? We could call Gladio and see if he’s up for a late night training session. Perhaps he’ll cancel yours in the morning if you’re willing to do it late.”

“No, it’s not like that. Ignis…” Noctis drops his voice so low that almost no sound comes out at all. “Spank me.” Ignis only catches the words because he sees them mouthed.

This bit makes Ignis nervous. Bad enough that he dates the prince and has done things with him that would create public outcry for years to come. He could be sacked entirely, humiliated out of his post. These days, it takes all of his backbone to look Regis in the eye. He’s not sure if the king would mind. Others would take issue, saying that Ignis has abused his confidence with the prince. While Ignis knows better than to consider anyone a station below the other based on birth and family, raising a hand to Noctis even when asked— _begged_ —is beyond the boundaries of his rights.

He should refuse. Instead, one study of Noctis’ face tells him all he cares to know. The prince wants to shout. The pieces begin to connect, allowing Ignis to see a full portrait of his needs.

“How hard?” shouldn’t be the words out of his mouth, but they are.

“Hard. With your hand.” 

Ignis supposes he can manage that. 

Or so he thinks until the prince of Lucis is taking his shirt off. It isn’t anything he hasn’t seen before in the gym. This is different. Noctis is stripping for _him_. 

Noctis leans in for a kiss before he chucks off his boxer briefs. There is only a hint of his arousal, as his dick is not fully hard. A slight blush has colored his face. It takes him a minute to ease across Ignis’ lap, fingers digging into the bedsheet.

Ignis dares rest one hand on his back, the other easing onto the ass before him. The touch elicits a content hum from Noctis. The skin trembles from inexperience. Ignis has only slightly more composure, but even he realizes he is holding his breath as he extends his fingers and presses them together to turn himself into some kind of implement.

For reassurance, Ignis leans over for Noctis’ hand. It helps; Ignis notes his own relaxation as he feels the steady reassurance of the prince’s breathing. 

Still, he holds in a needed exhale as he lifts his hands and slaps the flesh before him.

The prince bucks from the shock, his fingers tightening their grip. A moan escapes his lips. The pale skin of his ass doesn’t seem much affected. Ignis slaps again, a little harder, waiting for any cue that he has gone too far.

Noctis raises his hips for the third spank. Ignis offers it, increasing the intensity more than intended. This leaves a mark that blossoms across the prince’s backside—nothing that would risk bruising, but enough that Ignis gains some confidence. He offers a fourth slap against the skin, just as hard.

The cry that fills the room arouses him, and against his legs, he can often feel the rubbing of Noctis’ erection before he raises his ass for another smack. Ignis obliges, unsure if he should say something reassuring or loving. The released tension deserves kindness. This is, as he has surmised, less about punishment and more about sexual release.

“Get it out,” he whispers. “Holler. I’ll be here.”

Noctis nods and squeezes Ignis’ hand. Permission granted.

Ignis lands a series of well-spaced smacks before he rests his fingers against the heat of the inflicted damage. He waits a beat before he tries a few more. He doesn’t take especial pleasure in causing any pain, but the responding cries are enough that he aches to pin Noctis to the bed and make love to him. 

“More?” asks Ignis.

“Yeah…” The word barely passes Noctis’ lips, and Ignis begins to worry that come time to call the safe word, he might not be able to speak. He slaps a little slower this time, taking greater pauses. Still, Noctis continues to meet his hand halfway with a lift of his hips.

The skin goes from pink to red as the spanking resumes. Ignis worries it might bruise. What will Noctis do if he needs to sit down? Or maybe that will be something he enjoys—not being able to take a seat without a reminder of the passionate night he had before. Not that this fumbling test is full of romantic gestures and perfect lovemaking that Ignis anticipated would be his first time. Realistically, neither of them is experienced enough for this to go smoothly, but that doesn’t stop it from being nice for both of them.

The cries get louder—each smack brings intense moans that fill the air. The apartment is soundproof, a requirement sought for the prince in case any matters of state were handled within its walls. Regis must have known that a teenager living on his own ran the risk of having sexual partners, too, but whatever his original excuse, it is useful to both Noctis and Ignis that no one can hear them except each other.

Noctis cries upon each impact, but the one that Ignis determines is the last is the one that makes him come. 

Noctis slumps across Ignis’ lap. Ignis rubs at the prince’s shoulders in gentle circles, afraid to press down too hard and aggravate old injuries in his back. The prince has pale scars from the Marilith attack now that there is pause enough to look. One is even the result of surgery meant to correct some of the problems that Noctis was having; surgery that only brought more pain than relief a few years ago, right before Noctis started high school.

“Thanks,” whispers Noctis. He rolls over, eyes closed.

“Do you think you can sleep now?”

“Close enough. I’m gross. And what about you?” Noctis gestures toward the tent in Ignis’ boxer briefs. “We could take care of it in the shower.”

Ignis likes that idea. “If you’ll ready the water, I’ll change the sheets.”

Noctis nods and slides off the bed. His feet pad into the bathroom, and the way he walks and holds himself seems more confident and satisfied somehow. The tension that had wound around him has been snapped away. Ignis gets a proper look at Noctis’ red ass before it disappears. The job doesn’t look as if it will leave more than a few light bruises come morning. Perhaps a potion might be in order before they sleep.

Noctis is already under the warm water when Ignis finishes changing out the bedding. He slips behind Noctis, his erection softened from less stimulating activities. Noctis turns and grins at him as he’s rinsing out his hair.

“May I?” asks Noctis when he finishes rinsing. His fingers stretch toward Ignis’ cock.

Ignis nods. As much as he would love to lift the prince against the wall of the shower and at least fuck him between the thighs if not deep inside him, he’s tired. More than likely, they would slip. And the condoms and lubricant are in the bedroom, far from the shower. 

Noctis is a little rough at first, and Ignis has to put an arm to the tiled wall to keep steady. Each stroke is intense. Is this how the prince masturbates? If so, Ignis worries. It doesn’t help that they don’t have lubrication. Still, Ignis comes within a few minutes, even though the orgasm is short and not entirely fulfilling.

Ignis doesn’t let on that he’s dissatisfied. He kisses Noctis as a sort of thank you before they finish showering. Ignis borrows a pair of Noctis’ clean underwear and one of his loosest shirts to wear to bed; they’re a little tight. If he felt safe enough doing so, he would bring his own clothing. Perhaps he shall start carrying spares in his car to fetch if necessary. 

The two climb into bed, almost forgetting to shut off the lights. Ignis’ eyes are heavy. As the prince drifts off in the crook of his arms, it isn’t long before sleep claims him, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "About time, Cal." I knoooow. (This was actually chapter 9, but I hated the three or so paragraphs of chapter 8 that I had written before I got stumped...so I um. Just made this chapter 8. Fuck it.)
> 
> I like to write spankings. I just hope people enjoy this one!


	9. Chapter 9

Noctis doesn’t feel much of the spanking the following morning. Only a few pale bruises remain. A look in the full sized mirror behind the bathroom door gives him a chance to see the slight damage. He slides a finger over a bruise and presses, hissing when he realizes that there is still some pain when the marks are aggravated.

He regrets _nothing_ about the night before. 

Ignis makes them breakfast in too-tight underwear and an ill-fitting tee while his clothes run through the wash. Before they head to the Citadel, they’ll be stopping by Ignis’s apartment to pick up his gym bag. Noctis is looking forward to training for once. 

There is still some time before Ignis finishes cooking, so Noctis digs the vacuum out of the closet. The floor is gross, and he can visibly see the improvement as crumbs are sucked off the carpet. He manages to finish his bedroom before he is summoned for breakfast. 

“You seem spirited,” says Ignis as they sit across the table from one another.

“Last night helped,” admits Noctis before he takes a bite of his eggs and toast. He shifts in his seat. He can still feel where Ignis chastised the skin, and it delights him. “Thank you.”

Ignis laughs. “I was terrified, but seeing you happy makes it worth it.”

“You held my hand. You…” Noctis is embarrassed, and his cheeks prickle. Words are difficult, mostly when he has to share them. “I didn’t feel alone.”

“You aren’t alone, ever.” The conviction in Ignis’ voice brings Noctis comfort.

“I know.”

The two eat in silence for a while as Noctis considers his schedule for the day. The list of duties doesn’t seem nearly as daunting as it did the night before.

“I bet I could kick Gladio’s ass today.” Noctis is feeling confident enough to take on the Empire’s entire army of magitek—not that he’s stupid enough to try. “Maybe we’ll even win against the marshal, if he’s there.”

Noctis knows better; all four of them will be flat on their backs within five minutes of going up against Cor. Over the years, no match with him has ever lasted long and with fewer than four potions. 

“We can certainly try. I imagine it must bore him, taking on the four of us as if we stand a chance.” 

“Oh, we definitely stand a chance.”

Ignis chuckles and begins washing the dishes. Noctis rises to help, drying and putting them away. They work in silence, but there is no need for words. They’re both content. Noctis wants to savor that for as long as he can.

~*~

Different sparring partners present different challenges for Noctis. When he’s with Gladiolus, size and strength go hand in hand for someone who has spent the greater majority of his life training as a shield. And much like a shield, he’s impenetrable. The goal in defeating him? _Wiping the smirk off his face._

When Noctis takes on Ignis, the two work in harmony, the sound of metallic clinging from their weapons a melody in which to dance. Any progress either of them makes usually generates a smile from either of their lips. Both of them have pride, so they never take one another lightly, but each round ends with some sort of intimate touch—clasped hands, a clap on the back, or a hand resting on the shoulder. Of late, the physical contact has a special meaning to it.

Prompto is clumsy, and it’s hard not to hold back even though Noctis doesn’t want to insult him for his efforts. To deal with it, the two often bounce around the other, chatty enough that Cor often barks at them to take their training more seriously. They listen for a minute. And then Noctis will slide with ease out of the way of one of Prompto’s training shots, and it can’t be helped: Noctis will reference a video game where he once missed a zombie with a fake shotgun, and the two will be back to their high school days at the arcade.

Cor is another matter entirely. 

Sometimes he is soft—Noctis remembers the time Cor took him fishing and scooped him up in his arms so he wouldn’t fall into the water. And then Cor brought him to the reservoir dozens of times afterward. 

The great Lucian carp incident is one of Noctis’ best memories.

Cor loses all his fun and gentle nature in the training room. If Gladiolus is a behemoth, then Cor is a fortress. He tosses aside each attempted strike with an effortless swing of his katana. The man doesn’t break a sweat for them. The training room might as well have been his nursery for as long as he’s spent in one. Cor served Noctis’ _grandfather_. Somehow it’s hard to think of this gruff-looking man as anything but an adult, but at one point, he was a young teen eager to serve the line of Lucis.

Noctis is maybe a little impressed. 

Not one of them can stand long on a one-on-one battle with Cor. The four of them combined struggle with one of Ignis’ strategies. Each time they think they might have found a weak point, a blind spot, some way to slip in and manage to touch him with the tip of one of their weapons, Cor detects them. They can take him all on at once, in close combat or at a distance, but neither is safe.

Cor kicks their asses.

Still, this time feels a little differently. Noctis has more confidence that morning, and he grasps a sword in his hand. A real one, because Cor prefers to use true weapons in a fight. The exception is Prompto, who is under strict orders not to fire off an actual gun on the premise anymore after the trail of bullet holes he left in the training room walls. Clarus scolded the five of them for several hours straight after that incident. Humans come and go and have health care; the Citadel is historic and costly to restore—especially at taxpayers’ expense.

Since then, Prompto has only been able to fire off a real gun in the safety of a range.

“We’re gonna die,” says Prompto as the four gather and brace themselves. It’s all they can do—Ignis offers a new tactical approach, but they all feel hopeless to experiment with it.

“Nearly die,” correct Gladiolus.

“As if that makes it better. Until one of you hands me a potion, I’m going to feel like I’m dying for several seconds if not several minutes!”

“Shut up and fight, Prompto.”

Prompto only ever complains about training when they do these spars. When he’s under Cor’s tutelage, he never whines. Not once. 

“It is going to hurt, though,” admits Gladiolus. “I asked my dad what would take him down, and you know what he said?” He grunts and does a bad imitation of Clarus. “‘That’s something you’ll have to find out for yourselves. You won’t have my advice in a real battle.’”

“As expected of the King’s shield,” says Ignis. “No matter. The more often we spar Cor, the closer we become to understanding his strengths and weaknesses.”

“I’m pretty sure someone bottlefed him steel and iron,” says Prompto, wilting.

“We have this,” Noctis snaps. “We haven’t lost unless we don’t try.”

Gladiolus smirks. “Exactly. Noct, you have energy today. I like it. What’s got you so pumped up?”

Noctis flushes red, hoping it won’t be noticeable—they’ve been training for over two hours and are covered in sweat. The heat of their bodies is thick in the air with them so close to one another. Of course his face would be red.

“I slept well,” says Noctis, his voice a little too high.

Gladiolus’ grin turns wolfish, but he doesn’t say anything.

Ignis begins going over their strategy. Across the room, Cor leans against the wall and mediates with all the patience of a man who has nothing to lose against four young men who might as well be called children in comparison to him.

Prompto and Gladiolus are both right: they’re going to _almost_ die, and it’s going to _suck_.

~*~

Even after a bath, Ignis is sore and doesn’t think he’ll recover for the rest of the day with his fight against Cor. He must have sensed their energy—if Noctis’ was infectious to the other three, the four of them most certainly had an effect on the marshal. Each attempted blow was parried, an extra flare in Cor’s movements. There was an extra sparkle in his eyes, too.

They were showed no mercy, and as a result, Ignis aches.

An arm slams against the neighboring locker as he’s folding his dirty gym clothes. He looks up to see Gladiolus, a towel loosely knotted at his hip, grinning at him.

“What did you two do?”

Ignis sighs.

“C’mon. Noctis and Prompto are having a water gun fight in the showers. You have time to tell me everything.”

“I have no idea what you’re implying.”

“How was it?” When Ignis doesn’t answer, Gladiolus laughs. “You don’t think I couldn’t smell it all over you?”

“Are you a bloodhound, Gladio?”

“Might as well be. Been in enough clubs and bedrooms to know _that_ smell. Noctis doesn’t have an extra strut in his step for nothin’.” Gladiolus folds his arms over his chest. “I like it. Whatever you did, do it more often. I like it when Noct’s up for a fight. It’s one of the ways I can feel closer to him, too.” He sighs. “I don’t know what to do when he shuts down. Don’t know what to say or how to snap him out of it. Even Prompto can only do so much. You’re the only one with any power to help him.”

Ignis doesn’t like being given so much credit. There are times he can’t help Noctis, either, and then he fails not only at performing his job, but at being Noctis’ friend.

“Having power doesn’t mean you get through every time,” says Gladiolus, as if reading his thoughts. “It’s still up to him on whether or not he’ll accept help.”

“Perhaps you could help by teasing me less.”

“Not gonna happen. This is too fun.” Gladiolus practically purrs the words before he pushes out from the locker with his elbow. “Better hurry. You have a meeting in half an hour, don’t you?” He waves as he disappears on the other side of the lockers.

Ignis sighs again. Somewhere in the shower room, he hears a crash followed by laughter and Prompto’s screeching.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a lot of ideas for this story, but I've been losing my motivation for it. I have chocolate covered coffee beans in the next chapter, though! Hopefully. (I keep changing things, I'm sorry.)
> 
> I kind of want to end this soon before it gets to be a large, out of hand fic, but at the same time, I have ideas for it continuing on during the road trip...
> 
> What I do want to cover before I wrap up this fic: showing how Noctis starts to get more and more open about wanting to do things with Ignis~


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't updated in forever, I got sidetracked with fifty other ideas! and now I'm working on rarepairs week a bit on top of that. I have way too many things I need to post that I haven't... anyway! here's some fluffy gift-giving ignoct goodness if anyone is still reading this story (and if you are, thank you so much) :3

The Ebony brand banner stretches over a table stacked with tins. It is the first thing Noctis notices when he enters the store with Prompto.

“Limited time only chocolate covered coffee beans?” Noctis elbows his friend in the ribcage, which makes him squeak.

“Dude, not even chocolate will make you love coffee,” says Prompto.

“Not for me. For Ignis.”

“Oh. Right.”

Noctis nears the display. How many could he afford with his part-time job? Everyone thinks the prince and all the royal family could buy anything in the world and never blink at the price tag, but King Regis only pays for Noctis’ apartment, bills, and some food—and only because he hands the grocery money to Ignis. One step out of line, and he would lose all of that allowance and be stuck paying his own way. Not that he has any intention of doing anything stupid that would embarrass and burden his father.

“Noctis, c’mon, let’s get snacks!”

“Hold on, I’m getting a box or two of these for Ignis.” Noctis finally bothers to glance at the price tag and strangles down a protest. He could buy six cans of Ebony for the price of one of these tins. He picks it up. It’s light, too. Are there even that many in there? 

There’s a chocolatier near the Citadel whose prices are more reasonable. Regis used to treat Ignis and Noctis to truffles and other treats when they were small. Going there might be financially more advisable, but Noctis is here, in this store, and these are Ebony. 

And he might just get rewarded with a kiss when he hands them over. Even more reason to grab a seco—

“Dude, those are _expensive_. I thought you wanted to get snacks for tonight?” Prompto’s staring down the price tag.

Noctis pauses with his fingers inches from a second one. If he doesn’t have chips and cookies while he games all night, he’ll nibble on the chocolate covered coffee beans just to have _something_. And then he wouldn’t have a present for Ignis, which wouldn’t mean finding out what it’s like to kiss an especially grateful Ignis.

He drops his hand down. 

“Lead the way, Prompto,” he grumbles, knowing it isn’t anyone’s fault but his own that he hasn’t taken on more hours. But if he slips in his duties as prince because of it, that will mean more pressure on Regis and Ignis to see to it that Noctis gets his act together. And even if today is one of his better days, he has enough trouble keeping up.

~*~

Noctis doesn’t want to stop playing this game. They’re close to unlocking even more bonus features, including the arena where he can build up his own team of monsters and pit them against someone else’s. 

Prompto yawns and leans his head against Noctis’ shoulder. “Let’s go to bed,” he mumbles, closing his eyes.

Noctis shrugs his shoulder to nudge him off. “At least finish this round.”

“Nooooct.” Prompto lifts his head. He pitches in, and somehow, their pitiful team conquers the AI. A bunch of messages line up, notifying them of each new feature. Finally, Noctis has access to the rest of the monsters he can use in the game. 

Noctis saves and shuts down the system while Prompto trudges off to the bathroom. He’s tired, too, but his free time never lasts long enough. Within no time, it’s after one in the morning, everyone’s tired, and they have to be up far too early the following day. It’s always training, briefings, work, or preparation for some social affair or another. He’d love a week off.

When he’s king, he won’t even get to relax for a few hours. He’s not even sure what it’ll be like to sleep while holding up the wall and lending magic to the citizens, and the thought makes him sick. It’s always worse when he stays up late. His fears take his exhaustion as an opportunity to multiply.

Prompto returns and yawns again, snatching up his phone from the coffee table. It helps that he’s there. Less nightmares, less distractions. 

“Got a text from Gladio,” he says, furrowing his brows. “He sent it a few hours ago.”

Noctis looks at his phone. Nothing. Whatever it’s about, it’s not anything important involving him. Still, he’s curious.

“What’s he want?”

“He wants to hang out tomorrow night.”

Noctis grins. “Maybe he wants a date.”

“Or to yell at me about how bad my training is going.”

Noctis frowns. “Cor was telling me you’re doing awesome. He says he has no idea how you do it, but you’re modifying weapons now.”

Prompto chuckles as he’s tapping away at his screen. “You know me, total technophile.”

“Don’t sound so modest.” Noctis tosses a pillow at him. Prompto ducks as it sails above his head. “Cor doesn’t say nice things unless he means them. He doesn’t waste his words. If he thinks you did something good, it must’ve been impressive. He doesn’t praise _me_ like that.”

“He does, but you shrug it off.” Prompto plops down onto the sofa and sighs.

“That’s because I know I’m awesome.”

Prompto snorts. “Dude, let’s go to bed.” He stares at his phone and doesn’t move.

“He’s not going to answer. He’s probably asleep.”

“Do you think he might…” Prompto shakes his head. “Never mind.”

Noctis hauls himself out of the nest he had carefully crafted for himself on the sofa. Blankets and pillows go tumbling, and he realizes how damn cold the rest of the room feels against his warm skin.

“That he might like you?” he asks. “That’s what you want to know, right?”

“Yeah…”

“I don’t know. Maybe he wants to go pick up chicks with you.”

“He’d steal them all.”

Noctis takes hold of Prompto’s arm and makes a half-hearted effort to pull him up. Luckily, Prompto gets the hint and stands on his own. 

“It’s too early in the morning to be this sad,” mutters Prompto.

Noctis lets out a low grunt of agreement. “You’re telling me. Time for bed. For real.” He playfully shoves Prompto in the direction of the bedroom. “Don’t steal the covers.”

“You’re the one who does that. Maybe you should grab those blankets you were using.” Prompto gestures lazily at what has fallen to the floor.

Noctis bends over and gathers them up in his arms. It’s tempting to fall down into them and sleep on the floor. Why does the bedroom have to be so far away? 

“Hurry up, Noct!”

“I know!” He has to pee, anyway, and the bed is near the bathroom. He drags his way there, stuffing his face into the blankets and tripping on the ends of them as they drag along the ground.

~*~

 

Noctis doesn’t know how to giftwrap the tin. For most of the week, he left it in a bag on the top of his desk. Ignis hasn’t been over, so there’s been no need to hide it. It takes him a few minutes to relocate it. 

He taps the tin against the edge of his desk and thinks. Giftwrapping with the expertise of a five year old is unacceptable. He doesn’t even have paper around the apartment. He could grab a pretty bag and some tissue at the store, but that feels cheap. 

Giving presents _sucks_. 

He’s not even sure when he wants to hand it over to Ignis. Or how he’ll do it. Maybe he should leave it on the kitchen counter and casually shrug it off and say, “Oh, yeah, I got those as snacks for you.”

There is no way he’ll score a grateful kiss if he doesn’t put some effort into presentation. Why does this have to be so hard? At least if he shoves a wrapped gift in Ignis’ hand quickly, he won’t have to speak.

Noctis tries to make his hair somewhat presentable and shoves on a pair of pants and shoes without socks. It takes about ten minutes to reach the drugstore at the corner of his street. Finding paper he likes proves to take much longer.

There are a lot of cartoon prints for kids. Some stuff has chocobos on it—would be perfect for Prompto, if Noctis ever bought him gifts. If they’re not meant for children, they’re plain colors or gaudy patterns. A simple color might do, and a nice ribbon, if he can successfully wrap the present at all.

He snags black wrapping paper and a silver bow, pays, and hurries back to his apartment before the streets get any thicker with morning traffic and someone recognizes that this greasy-haired, underdressed young man is their prince. The paparazzi would love that. His father would love it even more. 

His next mission, once Noctis is home, is to wrap the present as flawlessly as he can. He skims through video tutorials on his laptop until he finds one, and then rolls the paper flat across the surface of his dining table. 

Only to realize he doesn’t have any tape on hand. The closest things he can find in the entire house are bandages and an ugly skin-colored tape that is used for holding down gauze. He does find some heavy duty glue in a tool kit, but that would be overkill. And knowing his luck, he’d glue his fingers to the tin.

He pauses the video and pulls his jeans back on. This time, he wears a hoodie and flattens his hair down over his face a little more. There will be more people out who might recognize him. 

The run takes almost thirty minutes, most of which is spent waiting in line. The cashier smirks at him as she rings him up.

“Weren’t you in here earlier for wrapping paper?”

He doesn’t answer. She doesn’t even bother to bag the item, just hands him the receipt. He curls that around the tape dispenser and shoves it in his pocket.

Ignis is worth the work that has been put into his gift, but by the time Noctis gets home, all he wants to do is sink into the sofa and play video games.

He hits play on the instructional video and does his best to wrap the present. He learns how to fold in the right spots and tape them down, until there’s a mostly neat little package sitting on the table. He pats the sticky part of his bow onto the top and begins to clean up. 

Within ten minutes, he hears Ignis open the apartment door.

Noctis keeps the parcel on the table. It’s far too big for his pocket, anyway, and hiding it behind his back will bring more attention than leaving it out.

“Hey, Specs,” says Noctis, pretending to mess around on his phone as he leans against the edge of the table.

“Hello, Noct.” Ignis is holding a paper sack with groceries inside. Noctis crinkles his nose at the celery sticking out.

He watches Ignis unload everything out on the countertop. Pots and pans clatter as they’re taken out of the cabinet.

Noctis reaches behind him and fingers the corner of the package.

“What’re we having for lunch?”

“Chicken with rice.”

“Nice.” He can handle that. It means there will only be a little celery in it, and they’ll be in chunks big enough to pick out. Maybe Ignis will even agree to omit it entirely if Noctis offers him the candies first. “I...” His face begins to tickle. “I got you something.”

Ignis stops. “Did you?” 

Noctis slides the package across the table toward his hip and lifts it up. He approaches Ignis and thrusts it at him, unable to look him in the eye. He’s going to die right there. Well, if he’s _lucky_ he will.

“Thank you, Noct.” Ignis raises the package and inspects it before he begins peeling off the little bits of tape and turning back the folds. He tilts it until the tin comes sliding into his palm. “How thoughtful.” He smiles. “Thank you, Noct. I’ve wanted to try these, but I couldn’t find them anywhere.”

Noctis should have bought the whole store out. Announced he was the prince and stolen an armful. Charged his credit card into the red. 

One tin isn’t enough.

“I’ll try one after lunch,” says Ignis, setting the box on the counter. He steps closer and embraces Noctis, following it with a kiss on his forehead. “What was the occasion?”

Noctis slides his arms around Ignis’ waist and presses against him. He’d like to stay like that for a while. Who needs lunch? This is way better. “I saw them and knew I had to get them for you.”

“Do you remember that candy shop near the Citadel?”

“Hell yeah. Makes me think of the few times Dad used to play with us when we were little, and he’d bring us sweets.”

Ignis relaxes his arms, but Noctis squeezes tighter. He has been too deprived of hugs, and he would like to keep this one a little longer while he has it.

Ignis chuckles and kisses his hair. “You’re affectionate today.”

“Yeah. Well. I earned this. I had to run to the store _twice_ to get everything I needed to wrap it.”

“Ah, poor you.” There isn’t a hint of sympathy in Ignis’ voice.

“Just let me stay here for a bit.”

“As long as you want, Noct,” says Ignis. He tightens his embrace again, and Noctis closes his eyes, smiling. A different sort of thank you would have been nice, but maybe this is what he _needed._


	11. Chapter 11

Ignis notes an upbeat in his routine with Noctis. There is more progress these days—cleaner dishes and countertops, an effort to change the sheets out once a week, and even some sort of attempt at organization for games and comics. It slacks if Ignis doesn’t plan to come over and arrives anyway, but if Noctis expects him…

“Are you trying to impress me, Noct?” asks Ignis one evening as he seats himself on the sofa. Noctis looks up from his pile of reports, pen paused. 

“No. Why would you think that?” The prince sounds nothing if not defensive.

“I see.” Ignis hums as he pulls out his phone and launches King’s Knight.

A few minutes later, Noctis finishes up the last report. He slumps across the top of the stack and sighs, but Ignis knows a show when he sees one.

“What do you want, Noct?” asks Ignis. He doesn’t glance up from his game.

“You. Us. Together.”

“In what capacity?” 

“You’d make me say it?”

“Yes.” He isn’t sure where this desire to tease arises from, but he enjoys the lustful moan it draws out of Noctis. A few minutes later, Ignis hears the chair push away from the table, soft slippers pattering against the floor. 

Arms slip around his neck from behind, and tension Ignis didn’t know he had sheds away. Now he understands what couples mean when they refer to coming home to their loved ones. 

Ignis hasn’t grown up with the rules of the Citadel only to break them all. But how could he not consider it, with the prince’s lips against the tip of his ear, causing warmth to trickle down his neck and across his chest? 

Noctis clambers over the back of the sofa, his embrace sliding away. He gathers up one of Ignis’ hands as he curls beside him. Fingers caress the creases in his palm. Lips brush against his knuckles before popping around his index finger. 

“Where did you lear—” Ignis cuts off as Noctis glances up through his lashes. 

By the Six, Noctis is lovely. All those times Ignis held back, had pacified himself with the knowledge that his career would always put him close to the one he loved… He hated those moments of restraint. They had all been necessary before, but now…

Now he’ll allow the chains to dissolve. 

Ignis lifted his hand to Noctis’ cheek. Noctis cups it and turns his head, kissing the heel of Ignis’ palm. That’s the instance it hits him that this moment—many of these moments—are all he wants. A brotherhood between the two will never be enough. It is not the closeness the two have been thirsting for.

It doesn’t seem at all strange now, looking back at the night Noctis grinded against him. They’ve been chained for so long, two prisoners—one valued for his blood, the other for his family name and upbringing—that they no longer see the reason to follow the laws. Not for this night. Not for the next. 

Will they be able to withhold this passion when they’re standing at the alter next to their spouses? Whose face will Noctis see in a few years, as he spends himself inside his wife to make an heir? Will he deceive her by hiding Ignis in the shadows of the Citadel, using their work to disguise a deeper bond?

These questions matter less and less, however, as Noctis sucks one finger and then the next, from pinkie to index. The sensation stirs Ignis’ cock. 

“Do you like my hands so much, Noct?” teases Ignis.

“They’re beautiful.” The confession makes Noctis blush, and he dips his head away. “It’s just…imagining what they can do to me…”

“Mm, maybe you should tell me what they can do?”

Noctis sucks in a tight breath before placing Ignis’ palm over the tent in his sweatpants. Ignis thumbs at the waistband, testing, but Noctis makes no move to stop him. It’s easy to tug the pants down Noctis’ hips and out of the way.

A few clumsy tugs from shaft to tip have Noctis’ nails clawing at the fabric at Ignis’ shoulder, his head tilted against the back of the sofa. Ignis adjusts and leaves kisses at the exposed neck and jawline while he continues to stroke, which isn’t too comfortable when his arm is pressed between their bodies. But he keeps his wrist moving, reveling in the vibrations against his lips as they linger against Noctis’ throat.

“Noct…” The tone of his voice exposes his pent-up passions. Anyone, upon hearing those words, would know there’s more to Ignis than his job as chamberlain or his childhood friendship with Noctis.

They’re like two wild teenagers. A sloppy handjob and no self-discipline—and damn the Astrals if it doesn’t feel good to Ignis to explore this relationship. They’ll work at it together. Find a way to be together.

Ignis peppers Noctis’ neck with kisses to withdraw more moans from out his lips. Noctis bucks beneath his hand harder, hip grinding against Ignis’ wrist. It only takes another minute to reach fulfillment. He lets out a quiet shudder and sinks further against the cushions. His pants and shirt are sticky with come.

Ignis wipes his hand against the shirt, realizing too late that it might’ve been more satisfying for Noctis to watch him lick it off his fingers. Oh well, another time—they’ve got plenty of it now that the barriers have been decimated.

Noctis leans in and gives him a kiss on the lips, soft and sweet. He wears a smile and a shine in his eyes. 

It’s easy to hold him after that. Noctis fits into his arms. They ought to get cleaned up and Noctis in fresh clothing, but it’s too much work for either of them to move. 

“This is what I’ve always wanted,” says Noctis.

“I think we can do better. I think I was a bit sloppy.”

Noctis laughs. “No, I mean us being together.”

There’s a pause, and Ignis allows his eyes to close. He gives Noctis’ hand a reassuring squeeze. “I’ll always be by your side.”

“I know.”

The promise can mean so many things. Together in battle as comrades, between the sheets making love to one another, summarizing the finer details for Noctis so he can focus on his duties as king, even standing at his side while he swears life and love to someone else.

He pushes the last thought out of mind. The bride whose heart they’ll use and break in the shadows of the Citadel doesn’t have a name or face yet. It doesn’t matter tonight. And it won’t matter for the next. 

~*~

Noctis flips over a series of steaks, each one closer to determining his fate. 

Does he tell Regis? Flip. Does he not tell Regis? Flip.

He flicks the last one over, a “do not” steak with burnt edges that bleeds grease and sizzles mockingly at him. He gives it a special smack with his spatula. It doesn’t make him feel better, but it gives his apron another series of stains to wash out later.

Regis would be upset at first, but perhaps he would understand. Yes, Noctis would still have to marry someone to make an heir, but what if he doesn’t love her? Or maybe he does, but he suspects he’ll always love Ignis more. When he sat on the school lawn with Prompto a year or two ago, his friend asked him which students he thought were attractive. Prompto could point out several students, girls and boys alike. Noctis skimmed over his options for someone who resembled Ignis. No one even came close. 

He could never tell Prompto who he was looking for back then; what makes him think he can tell his father now? Noctis and Regis don’t have great conversations these days. If they’re not stiff and informal—words from a king to the future king and not those passed between father and son—the two are prone to quiet argument. 

This would be the start of another silent fight. Regis, staring at Noctis with a tired, gentle look that begs for understanding while he takes a side neither of them wants. The people’s side. Insomnia’s side.

The steaks have spoken the will of the gods, and they have told Noctis not to share the truth with his father. 

“Noctis! Hurry it up! Did you start the mashed potatoes?” One of the waiters peers through a curtain of orders Noctis has yet to fulfill.

Noctis glances over at the potato sack sitting on the countertop next to him, still unpeeled.

“Coming right up!”

Perhaps he shouldn’t be leaving his fortune up to flipping meat in the kitchen of a steakhouse. The only _real message_ he’s been getting all night is how much he needs a shower to get the stench of grilled meat out of his hair and the grease off his arms. How does Ignis cook all those meals and still smell fresh? 

He would give anything to be clean and snuggling with Ignis in bed. Even if he doesn’t have his father’s approval, he _does_ have Ignis. No one can take Ignis away from him if they don’t know. For now, that’ll have to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started this chapter before the Assassin's Festival was announced, but once we found out what Ignis' hands looked like, I _had_ to include Noctis being all over them in some capacity.
> 
> If you're enjoying this story, I have tons of other ignoct fics! (Most of them admittedly are AUs, but I thought I'd mention it!)
> 
> Thank you for reading! ~~And sorry it took me forever to update.~~


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, I haven't forgotten this! Haha. I think this story is coming to a close, soon enough, but I might write some occasional smutty oneshots to accompany this later down the road. It's been difficult with a million fic ideas in my head, but slowly I'm wrapping up fics. That gives me a chance to write EVEN MORE IGNOCT.
> 
> I'm into this pairing more than I thought I could ever be, and now I cannot get out. No, please don't rescue me.

Nightmares prey on Noctis more when he is home alone for the night. With no Prompto or Ignis to latch onto, he drifts from one to the next. Even a glass of water when he wakes up with a scream burning in his throat doesn’t help. His thoughts visit a landscape of daemons and death, where the corpses of his loved ones cover a field. Cars are on fire. He’s been here before, when he was a little boy, making the nightmare hard to distinguish from reality when it stems from his memories.

He wakes up to the scar on his back throbbing. He grimaces and turns to the clock. It blinks an early hour at him, but it’s too late to go back to sleep, to squeeze in more hours of rest. The day will start in forty minutes. It will take him that much longer to relax again. He’s freezing and sweating at the same time, and he stumbles into the bathroom for a shower. 

Noctis hates nights like this. He lets the shower hide his tears and drown out his cries as he slumps against the tiles. Crying makes him feel better, but it also tires him out.

He doesn’t have work, but he spent the night before prepping resumes. Noctis sifts through them after his shower and listens for Ignis, who agreed to drive him around while he put in job applications. Cooking, as it turns out, sucks. A lot. He can do it, and he has managed so far with minimal complaints. But he’d rather work at a grocery store, where the pay is a little higher than fast food. Stocking shelves sounds almost peaceful, even if the shop might get crowded sometimes.

He needs the money, too. A new game system comes out in a couple of months, and he wants to save up enough to buy it on launch day.

It’ll be a boring day, but Ignis promised him dinner somewhere casual—someplace they won’t draw attention. Noctis remembers a time when they two of them could eat anywhere without the nagging thought in the back of their heads that their time spent together might not be seen as two friends.

Ignis arrives while Noctis munches on cereal out of the box and swallows it down with orange juice. 

“You aren’t dressed.”

“I’ll dress after I eat. Didn’t see the point in putting on nice clothes yet.” Noctis brushes the crumbs from his fingers onto his sweat pants and waves Ignis closer. Once he’s within distance, he snags the front of his shirt and pulls him in for a kiss.

Noctis presses his lips hard against Ignis’, closing his eyes as the tension leaves his body. Ignis has fresh, minty breath, while Noctis is sure he must taste like oranges and sugary oats. All his doubts and fears—even the little ones, like whether he’ll land a better job without someone hiring him simply because he’s the prince—melt away.

“Let’s stay in tonight, after dinner,” says Noctis. “I’m going to try my best today.”

Ignis rewards him with a smile and another kiss. “We’ll stay in tonight. What do you have in mind?”

“Being with you.” Noctis smooths his fingers over Ignis’ shirt where his grip rumpled it. “Video games?”

“Video games it is.”

“And…” Noctis hesitates. It’s still hard to put his sexual desires into words, but Ignis likes to hear him say it. Likes the reassurance of consent. “It’s going to be a stressful day. So maybe a little bit of…”

From the look on Ignis’ face, he isn’t hard to please as long as has an idea of what Noctis is asking for. Ignis smiles and dips in for another kiss. It’s only a peck, and when Noctis tries to persuade Ignis for more, the other man pulls away.

“I’d love to, but orange juice doesn’t mingle with toothpaste,” teases Ignis, lowering his lips to the tip of Noctis’ nose.

“I’ll go brush my teeth and get dressed, then.”

“I’ll give you a real kiss as reward.”

Noctis needs no further prompting to hurry to his room. Whatever this is—this shared bliss they must keep secret from the public—he wants more of it. Wants more nights of spooning and video games and silliness. It’s a normalcy he craves. When he’s alone with Ignis, he can be himself without fear of judgement. 

~*~

“You’ve never looked so good.”

Noctis kicks off his shoes and heads straight for the sofa.

“You can’t be referring to me,” says Ignis as he sets aside their shoes and slides his feet into slippers. “Even though I only drove, I’m tired, and I must look it, too.”

“No, I was talking about my apartment. My couch. It’s nice to be back.” Noctis deflates against the sofa. “At least I have an interview this week. Didn’t think I’d get one so soon. Today went a lot better than I thought it would, but I’m tired, too.”

When Ignis sits beside him, Noctis rolls over to get closer.

“You do look amazing. Maybe not in a ‘never so good’ way—you always look great.” Noctis smooths the back of his fingers along Ignis’ jaw. He leans in and gets the kiss he wanted that morning, full mouthed with a taste of wine from their dinner.

He isn’t as stressed as he thought he would be, but that doesn’t stop him from scooping up Ignis’ hand and setting his lips against his palm. He spreads out the fingers and laces theirs together. 

“I like this game,” says Ignis.

“It’s my favorite. You don’t even need a system to play it.”

“Hmm, I thought you passed biology, Noct?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“You need a functioning reproductive system for this.” Ignis rests his hand over the erection pressing through Noctis’ boxers.

Noctis blushes. “You… You are the worst nerd.” He shows that he means no offense with those words by snuggling closer and unbuttoning the top few buttons of Ignis’ dress shirt. The fabric slips down his shoulders with a gentle tug. He dips his head and nibbles at the exposed skin, taking care that any marks left behind will behind will be easy for Ignis to cover with his shirt later. 

How did he get so lucky? How did the little boy with too-big glasses—who planted seeds in the Citadel gardens to replace the geraniums Noctis ripped up for a bouquet so they wouldn’t get into trouble—get chosen to be Noctis’ future advisor? How did Ignis grow up to be so handsome and caring?

Noctis could have been stuck with a grumpy advisor several years his senior, who didn’t share in his adventures as a child, who didn’t care if he was scolded for innocently murdering a flowerbed. And even if this other chamberlain had good looks, he would have lacked all of the things Noctis loves so much about Ignis. And it would have been hard for anyone to match Ignis’ level of attractiveness.

There is only one Ignis.

Noctis stands to undress. The curtains are drawn—they often are now that they’ve been dating and share far too many intimate touches. He takes his time removing each article of clothing, eyes locked with Ignis’ attentive gaze. 

He straddles Ignis’ lap and leans in to run his tongue along the rim of Ignis’ ear. A hand squeezes his ass, and Noctis gasps loudly. His cock twitches in response. The testing slap that follows echoes in the front room of the apartment. Noctis stuffs his hand in his mouth to keep from crying out.

“I don’t think I need to ask if you liked that…” Ignis chuckles. “Another?”

Noctis bits down on his own hand and nods. Before Ignis gives in, however, he reaches over and persuades Noctis to let go of his fingers.

“Cry out, Noct. It’s only me.”

“Right…”

Noctis will never be particularly vocal during sex, but his gasps and moans are no longer contained as Ignis embraces him close, chest to chest, and rains down rhythmic smacks upon his ass. He feels the heat spread through his bottom and lower thighs, a warmth that spreads through his body and makes him tipsy with arousal.

He bucks during each slap, his cock rubbing over the bulge at the front of Ignis’ trousers. He leaves trails of precum with each spank and fills Ignis’ ears with soft moans that plead for more without words. And Ignis continues to give it, but Noctis can still feel his orgasm too distant to reach. 

“Harder?” asks Ignis, as if he knows this won’t be satisfying enough without the additional strength behind each spank.

“Yes, please, Specs— _please_.” Noctis’ whispered agreement has barely finished when Ignis delivers another, harsher smack. Noctis grips fistfuls of Ignis’ shirt and lets out a fresh cry, louder than any of the rest.

Ignis makes sure to spread where he lands his smacks, despite only using one arm while he keeps one carefully hooked around Noctis’ waist.

Noctis holds Ignis close to him, nose buried in his lover’s hair, as an orgasm blooms through him. He comes, moans ripe in Ignis’ ear. His muscles feel like putty, and he melts into Ignis’ embrace. 

The tension he didn’t know he was holding inside slips away. It was a tiring day, but not a bad one, and yet Noctis feels more relaxed than he has in days. And the way Ignis holds him afterward makes him feel even better. He enjoys the kisses and the caresses, the sweet words murmured in his ear.

He’s more than happy to return favors, helping Ignis out of his pants and taking his cock in his mouth. They’re giving the apartment the blessing of their love. Every bit of furniture, every countertop. In time, they’ll have made love everywhere. 

They might need an even bigger place one day. Perhaps they should expand their lovemaking to other places. The Citadel has many hidden rooms and forgotten places, where they can find privacy without the same boring scenery. Some of them would provide a louder echo than this place, too.

But Noctis doesn’t mention that yet. Not with a mouth full of cock and Ignis’ fingernails scraping against his scalp as they dig into his hair. When Ignis comes in his mouth, the thought slips away altogether.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry about the system joke. I'm so sorry.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The mention of photographs? Well, if you haven’t read The Mussed Advisor, that is a side story to this fic and I’m referring to it here.
> 
> This is the final chapter. Originally, I planned for two more, but the editing process resulted in several scrapped chapters since this story first started, and this was always meant to be the ending. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!

It gets easier for Ignis to read the signs, to pick up on the subtle gestures and the coy phrasing before he becomes more comfortable. Reading Noctis’ motives can be fun, too, when they’re alone with time to experiment. 

The day he saw the magazines scattered around the apartment, Ignis worried about a scandal leaking out. Some paparazzi are not beyond digging through the royal trash, even if all they find are chip wrappers and nail clippings. Security makes it hard for them to do even that much, but it only takes one breach and the right kind of rubbish in the bin to expose a part of Noctis’ life no one has any business seeing.

But Ignis’ discovery has led to him having thoughts that aligned with Noctis’. Not that Ignis necessarily enjoys inflicting physical pain. Ignis likes to think he’s not barbaric. It’s just that there _is_ an appeal to watching Noctis’ ass bloom red beneath his ministrations, feeling Noctis’ erection grow against his legs. Those moans that slip through his soft lips, too—Ignis can’t help but glance up from chopping vegetables just to see Noctis’ face and imagine a serene post-orgasmic expression spread across it. 

“What’re you thinking about?” asks Noctis, glancing up from his stack of reports. 

“How nice it is to see you on task,” says Ignis. These days, Noctis is happier and more likely to stay organized and on schedule. The apartment even manages some semblance of cleanliness in Ignis’ short absences.

“Did you like those photos I sent you the other day?”

Ignis sighs. “You know I had to delete them. I hope you have as well.”

“Not the ones of you.”

“You will soon enough.” Ignis smiles as he delivers the lazily disguised threat. That earns him a pleased noise from Noctis. “How many do you still have?”

He makes for the table to grab Noctis’ phone, but it is snatched away just as he reaches for it. Noctis turns away from him and begins scrolling through the gallery. 

“I’ll let you keep them for another night,” says Ignis. “But they’ll be gone by morning.”

Noctis pouts, holding the phone close to his chest. He’ll forget about it by the time he drifts off—that’ll be the ideal moment for Ignis to steal it and delete the evidence. Even a phone as secure as Noctis’ can provide a security risk, and Ignis doesn’t want to explain to the higher ups of the Crownsguard why Noctis has pictures of him in various states of undress.

“Why do you need pictures when you can have the real thing any time?” asks Ignis, trying to gauge the situation on whether or not it might be appropriate to unbutton the top of his shirt and make a show of it. 

Noctis leans a little closer, eyes wider as if needing every bit of his sight to take in the view. His tongue traces along his upper lip. Textbook and pencil are discarded and forgotten. For another night—some short hours of it—they’ll be able to lose themselves in youthful carelessness, worries put on hold. Ignis loosens the first button. Heat rises from his skin as his heartbeat quickens. For all the times they’ve made love now, he still isn’t used to this. 

All his confidence comes from a place of love and adoration, where he knows only that he wants to see Noctis happy. And if spanking his ass red and stealing kisses from Noctis even after he’s married will please the prince, Ignis is determined to give it to him. 

The words he wants to say are smothered with a kiss, one Ignis initiates as he allows Noctis to finish unbuttoning his shirt. The fabric slides from his shoulders with little assistance. Ignis makes his promises and wishes in the soft smack of their lips, clouting away whispers of love he begs to utter.

For he has always loved Noctis—in ways less perilous than the ones he entertains now. Had Noctis sat silent on his feelings, Ignis would have followed him to the end of his life as nothing more than his loyal advisor and friend. And it’s important they’re friends. It has always meant the world to him, even as he vowed to stand by Noctis with little knowledge of the depth of his affections. 

Ignis desires little more than to spend as many moments with Noctis as their mortality will allow. Ignis cherishes every brief moment that has since defined why Noctis means more than the world to him. What they’re doing now is a benefit of their youth, when they’re still fresh to expectation and allowed a few blunders. And when they’re no longer innocent—when age and wisdom has forced them to pay a price in scars and sorrows—they’ll have each other to cry beside. 

Those passions show in the way Ignis kisses Noctis. As if it’s the last taste of him he’ll have for a while, even though Ignis fully intends to spend the night. Ignis has been staying at the apartment more often than not these days. Their recklessness will catch up with them. But who are the people, to turn away their protector because of who he loves, _how_ he loves? 

“You’re starting to get into this,” says Noctis, breaking away from the kiss to work off Ignis’ pants. Once they are done away with, Noctis lowers his lips to the tip of Ignis’ cock. A sweet kiss lingers before Noctis takes Ignis into his mouth. Another location, another place where they’ve made love.

They take turns, pleasuring each other on the sofa and across the back of it. Handprints mark the otherwise pale skin of Noctis’ ass. Bruises are an artwork on display across Ignis’ throat and chest, the dull ache pleasing as Ignis grips the cushions and feels Noctis inside of him. The curtains are drawn tight as precaution, the lights dimmed low to avoid the cast of shadows, and in that privacy, Ignis and Noctis find bliss together.

Confessions of love slip from their tongues like shared vows at the altar. Ignis settles against Noctis’ chest and feels his breath against his back. Those arms that Gladiolus calls scrawny are stronger than they look, securing Ignis into place on the sofa. 

They remain there for a while, and Ignis thinks Noctis has fallen asleep. It is not until the prince breaks the silence with one last request that it is clear he has been awake the entire time.

“I want you to spank me for the magazines.”

“Do you believe you should be punished for them?”

“Yes.”

Ignis is curious as to why this request has come up so many months later, especially when he thought about them earlier and felt nothing more than grateful about the incident. Not that he won’t take advantage of another chance to discipline Noctis. After a few swats earlier, Noctis must have thought it nothing more than a teasing burn on his ass. A little taste of what is to come later—if Ignis is willing to give it to him.

And he _always_ is.

Ignis stands from Noctis’ embrace so they can speak face to face. 

~*~

Noctis remembers the tremor of his limbs the first time he had a spanking. The hitch of his breath. The drop from his gut to his loins—a mixture of thrill and arousal and dread. 

Not much has changed since then. He doesn’t shake the way he used to, and sometimes he grins right before the pants come off because he knows he has won. 

Every smack stings. He grips Ignis’ knee as each one thrusts him forward. His cries are tattletale to his pleasure, as if the cock that hardens between Ignis’ thighs isn’t already enough of a confession of his state. 

His threshold for pain makes it easy for him to endure for several minutes, but it’s the heat rushing through him that makes him frantic. He writhes across the lap he claims as a second throne, one of his hands clasped in Ignis’ free one.

Ignis adds a cute scolding to it, playing up the scene by adopting a severe tone. “If you want magazines, you ought to ask me to procure them for you. And I don’t see how that does you any good with me right here, ready to do anything for you.” 

Ah, the promise! Noctis doesn’t want anything to do with those horrendously bad photos. None of them can give him what Ignis does—flesh against flesh and sweet words of loyalty. It makes him want to be the perfect king. Doesn’t Ignis know that Noctis would do anything for him in return? 

“Ignis!” Noctis can’t help but cry his name as he comes. His hips buck wildly, and Ignis draws his thighs together to make it tighter to fuck them. Noctis leaves trails of his seed over Ignis’ trousers.

For a while, Noctis doesn’t move from his spot. Fingers caress his scalp as his hair is combed back, and he rests a cheek against a throw pillow. Each focus on his breath brings him back down from his high.

“I love you,” he whispers.

“I love you, too.”

He pulls his boxers back on as he stands and sits on Ignis’ lap. It hurts a little from the pressure on his bruised cheeks, but it’s a pain he savors. This moment belongs to them, and only them, and Noctis thinks he can face the future easier as long as they’re together. Ignis is everything to him. How much of his lifetime will he lend to proving it? All of it, if he could, but this time they spend together will have to be enough.

**Author's Note:**

> ...Annnnd I've done it. I've posted this fic, despite that spanko Noctis is not for everyone. Or anyone.
> 
> As I stated on my tumblr when I was deliberating whether to write this at all: Not anything extreme - no implements, no scolding, just Ignis’ soft voice in his ear giving him all the reassurance in the world that he’s gonna get exactly what he needs (Ignis will not do anything at all that Noctis doesn’t first ask for), let Noctis enjoy himself, and then they’ll sleep peacefully that night. Noctis will then be able to handle the next day with a clearer head.


End file.
